Broken
by TheNextFolchart
Summary: "Is it true what they're saying?" Travers asked in hushed tones. "About, you know . . . is he really gone?" Snape nodded shortly. "He's gone." Travers cursed. "For good? He ain't coming back this time?" "So it would appear." /Sequel to Unbreakable
1. The Death Eater

1. _The Death Eater_

Severus Snape appeared in Hogsmeade in the dead of night with a _crack _loud enough to trigger the alarm spell, which subsequently woke everyone on the street. "Oi!" shouted a masked Death Eater, hurtling around a corner with his wand drawn. "It's past curfew! What are you doing out of your house?"

"Relax, Travers," Snape said coolly, holding up his hands in surrender. "It's me."

"Snape," Travers said, lowering his wand. "Didn't expect to see you."

"Clearly."

"Is it true what they're saying?" Travers asked in hushed tones. "About, you know . . . is he really gone?"

Snape nodded shortly. "He's gone."

Travers cursed. "For good? He ain't coming back this time?"

"So it would appear."

"_Shit_," Travers said, pulling off his mask and dropping it in the street. "It's over, then." A wave of panic hit him, and he seized Snape by the front of his robes. "I can't go back to Azkaban!"

"Calm yourself," Snape drawled, pulling away from Travers' grip. "You must have known this could happen again. You must have some sort of plan."

"Plan?" Travers repeated, eyes wide. "I never had a plan! Obviously I never had a plan, or I wouldn't have been caught the last time, would I?"

"Well, make one," Snape said uninterestedly. "Flee the country, perhaps. Take a nice vacation. You've earned it, I'm sure."

"I have," Travers muttered. Snape offered a tight smile and started to walk away. "Oi! Snape!"

He stopped, but didn't look back.

"What do I do if they catch me? D'you think I should - you know, name names?"

A slow smirk spread over Snape's face. "If they catch you, I suggest you focus hard on every happy memory you've ever had. Because you won't be keeping them for long."

He walked briskly down the cobblestone street, ignoring Travers' shouts after him, keeping his eyes fixed on the large silhouette of the castle in the distance.


	2. The Sycophant

2. _The Sycophant_

Ginny Weasley woke up sweating.

The basement of the Leaky Cauldron was empty, save for Katie Bell, who was dozing in an armchair, and George, who was staring intently into the roaring fire. "All right, Gin?" George asked quietly as she sat up. "Another nightmare?"

Ginny nodded, pushing damp hair off her forehead. This was the third time she'd awoken tonight. She couldn't get more than an hour of sleep at a time without being interrupted by the dreams. "They're getting worse." She abandoned her cot in the corner and sat on the couch next to her brother. He put an arm around her shoulders. Together, they stared into the fire, lost in their own thoughts.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked suddenly.

George shrugged. "Percy, actually."

"What about him?"

George looked at her funny. "Oh, I guess you didn't hear. You've been gone so long."

"What didn't I hear?"

"He's dead. For about a month now."

She felt her stomach clench painfully. "How?" she whispered.

"Aurors," George said shortly. "Don't worry, they got to him before he could do any real damage."

Ginny furrowed her brow. "Aurors? But why would aurors kill him?"

In the armchair, Katie Bell began to stir. George pressed his finger to his lips, and Ginny repeated her question in a quieter tone of voice. "Why would aurors want to kill him?"

"He switched sides." George rubbed at his nose. "I guess you didn't know about that, either. Stupid git. The Ministry was so corrupted at that point, I don't even think he even knew what he was doing."

Ginny felt dizzy. "He was a Death Eater?" she said as quietly as she could.

"Oh, no, not even close." George glanced at Katie, who had slumped over and was snoring faintly. "But he was passing all kinds of policies that helped You-Know-Who. He was just going along with the majority. Anything to 'please his betters.' They bullied him into voting to make Muggle-hunting legal again, and Kingsley Shacklebolt wasn't too pleased about that."

The heat from the fire was suffocating her. "I need some air," she said, standing up. George gave her a sad smile and watched her walk away up the stairs.

The air was cooler in the kitchen. Ginny closed the secret door to the headquarters behind her and carefully wound her way out into the dark dining area. The Leaky Cauldron had been locked for months, ever since she was kidnapped. Nobody had bothered to sweep the floors, or even repair the broken tables that had been smashed by the Death Eaters almost a year ago. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend the raid had happened only moments ago. . . .

But she derailed that train of thought immediately. _Don't think about that_, she told herself sternly. _Don't think about any of it._

"_Alohamora,_" she whispered to the door. Its locks popped open with a tiny _click_ that nevertheless echoed through the silent pub. As she pulled open the door, the frosty air swirled in, cooling the sweat on her brow.

With a deep breath that nearly froze her lungs, Ginny left the Leaky Cauldron and began to pace the streets of Diagon Alley. Its cobblestone roads were empty; she was the only one awake at such a late hour. She shivered a little in the cold air and wrapped her arms around herself. Ollivander's was boarded up. Madam Malkin's had a For Sale sign in the window. Around the corner, Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour had a broken window and a floor coated in snow.

Even here, out of sight of any other living being, Ginny found she couldn't cry for her brother. She felt too hollow, too numb. There was no energy left to expel any tears, even though she knew she was supposed to. Percy had never been her favorite, but he was still her family. All he'd ever wanted was to prove he was worth being noticed, to show the world he was something more than a poor boy from a family full of other poor boys. And now he was gone, just like so many others. He wouldn't go down in history. He would never be Minister of Magic, or an esteemed professor, or even a father. It was all over for him.

Ginny stopped in front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Fred and George's shop was the only one on Diagon Ally that hadn't been abandoned, it seemed. With a sigh, she leaned against the door. To her surprise, it swung open. "Hello?" she asked quietly, stepping inside. "Fred? Are you here?"

There was no answer. She hadn't really expected one. Fred should have been home with Angelina and the baby, not here at the store. But the lights were on, and she could hear the hum of activity in the back room. "Hello?" she said again, her heart speeding up. "Is someone there?"

A loud _crash _sounded behind her, and Ginny whirled around, wand drawn. "Who's there?" she demanded, more angry than scared. "You aren't supposed to be here. We're closed."

"'We,'" snorted a hoarse voice from the shadows. "Listen to her, talking as if she owns the place!"

"Show yourself!" Ginny said sternly, pointing her wand toward the source of the voice.

"All right, all right," the voice grumbled, and a scrawny house elf emerged from behind a shelf of Skiving Snackboxes. "At your service, Mistress," asked the elf with an exaggerated bow.

Ginny eyed the elf skeptically. "Kreacher?" she asked, wand still raised.

"Kreacher, yes," the elf muttered. "Kreacher is at the blood traitor's service."

"What are you doing here?"

"Master Harry told Kreacher he belongs to the Weasley family now," Kreacher said with a glare. "And Masters Fred and George ordered Kreacher to stay here and mind the store."

Ginny finally lowered her wand. "They make you stay here all night?"

Kreacher nodded.

"And you don't lock the door?"

Kreacher muttered something Ginny couldn't hear. "What was that?" she asked, and he sighed and glowered at her.

"Kreacher cannot reach the locks," he repeated, pointing at the doorknob. "They are being too high."

"Oh." Ginny turned back toward the door. The locks weren't mounted especially high. She touched one gently. "Well, I didn't really mean to stop by. Sorry to disturb you. I'm going to head back to the Leaky Cauldron, I suppose."

"Goodbye, Mistress," Kreacher croaked, sweeping another ironic bow. "Pleasant dreams." He glanced up on the last word and grinned, baring a set of horribly rotten teeth. "Or not," he added cryptically as she turned the handle.

Ginny stood in the doorway for a few seconds before she sighed and turned back to the elf. "All right, Kreacher, what do you know about my dreams?"

Kreacher turned away from her to straighten a Puking Pastille on the bottom shelf that had gone askew. "Kreacher knows they are about the Dark Lord," he said slyly.

Ginny felt her chest cave in. _Don't think about him_, she told herself sternly. _Don't think, don't think, don't think. . . . _"How do you know that?"

"House elves know about dreams," he answered uninterestedly.

"Do you know how to prevent them?" she asked. "Is there a spell, or -"

"Kreacher knows," the elf interrupted. "But Kreacher cannot help the blood traitor, no, Kreacher's spells and potions will not help her."

"Why not?" asked Ginny.

A slow smile spread across Kreacher's face. "No method will work for Mistress Ginny. Her dreams are not ordinary. Her dreams are being sent."

"Sent? From where? From whom?"

He shrugged his skinny shoulders, grinning with delight. "Kreacher does not know," he said gleefully.

Ginny pulled out her wand again. "If you don't tell me," she began, but he was already receding into the darkness of the back room.

"Kreacher does not know," he repeated. "And Mistress Ginny is better off not knowing, either. It takes dark magic to send dreams." He was grinning again. "Goodnight, Mistress Ginny," he said, and suddenly all the lights were off and Ginny could do nothing but sigh angrily and stalk away into the cold night air.


	3. The Insomniac

3. _The Insomniac_

Katie Bell never really slept anymore. She dozed and she drifted, but that was the extent of it. Sleeping meant losing control of her own mind, and ever since the incident with the cursed necklace in Hogsmeade, Katie had resolved never to lose control again.

As Ginny trotted upstairs to walk around Diagon Alley, Katie moaned and uncurled herself from her armchair. "Did we wake you?" George asked as she moved to sit next to him. "I'm sorry."

Katie shook her head and stretched out on the couch, her head in his lap. He ran his fingers through her long hair. "Are you glad she's back?" Katie murmured, tilting her head back to see his face.

"'Course."

"And she found Harry." Katie swung her legs around so she was sitting upright. "And You-Know-Who is gone."

George ducked down to kiss her. "We should celebrate," he murmured against her lips, winding his arms around her waist.

"Ginny will be back any minute," Katie warned, but she didn't pull away from his embrace. "And you know what happened the last time we 'celebrated.'"

George began to kiss down the sensitive skin of her neck. "Ginny could be out for hours," he said. "We're all alone. We have a nice warm fire, and a great big couch. It's just you and me. . . ."

Katie closed her eyes as his lips grazed her collarbone. "George," she whispered as he tangled his fingers in her hair.

"Katie," he breathed, and she gave in.

* * *

As Katie stared into the firelight, wrapped up in George's arms, she moved her hand down to her stomach. She could feel the sensation of tiny bubbles floating around deep within her, and she knew he was awake, just like she was. Gently, she pressed her palm against her womb. "He's moving around," she told George, taking his hand and guiding it downward. "Can you feel him?"

"No," said George, grinning and kissing her nose. "It's all in your head. He's the size of a pea right now."

"I can feel him."

"Or her."

"Or her," she conceded. There was another twinge in her belly. "It happened again! I really can feel it."

George laced his fingers with hers and kissed the tip of each one. "I'm sure you can," he said, stroking the thin silver band on her fourth finger, the one enchanted to be invisible to everyone except the two of them. "What should we name it?"

"If it's a girl . . . Samantha," Katie said. George wrinkled his nose. "What's wrong with Samantha?"

"People will call her Sam," said George, making a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. "Fred and I once knew a bloke named Sam. He was a prat."

"That doesn't mean everyone named Sam is a prat," Katie said, rolling her eyes. "What about Emily?"

"Emily? Like Emily Vane from second year?"

"What was so bad about Emily Vane?"

"She dated Charlie," George said dryly. "I don't want to think of Charlie snogging every time I see my daughter."

Katie sighed, but she was smiling. "What if it's a boy?" she asked.

George stroked his chin. "George Jr.," he decided.

Katie laughed. "No way. Theodore?"

"As in Theodore Nott from Slytherin? Are you just naming people we went to school with?"

Katie grinned. "Draco?"

George raised his eyebrows. "I like it," he declared, and she laughed and elbowed him in the ribs.

"What about Percy?" she suggested gently when their laughter had died down.

George's eyes grew dark, and she instantly regretted asking. "Percy?" he said with a forced offhandedness. "You want to name the kid after Percy? Do you _hate_ him?"

"I just thought, you know, it would be a good way to honor him."

"Honor _Percy_?" George snorted. "Percy's a git."

"He was your family, though."

"So was Bill," George said. "I'd rather name him after Bill. At least Bill was all right."

"Bill," Katie said, testing the name. "William." There was a twitch in her stomach. "He moved," she reported, hand flying to cradle her womb. "He likes it."

"He's the size of a pea," George reminded her, but he was smiling.

"Bill it is," Katie said, looking down at herself. Her stomach was still flat; she wasn't far along enough to have a bump yet, but she also knew she hadn't been eating very much lately. "Hi, Billy," she whispered, running her thumb over her bellybutton.

They heard the door open overhead slam shut. "That'll be Ginny," George said, pulling her in for a quick last kiss. "You should get some rest, Katie."

Katie pulled her shirt down over her stomach and leaned back against the couch. "I'm not tired," she said as Ginny came charging down the stairs. "I'll be all right."

"I don't think -" George began, but Ginny burst into the room, her cheeks pink from the cold, and he cut himself off.

"I've just been to see Kreacher," Ginny panted, holding her hands out to warm by the fire.

"And what did that little git have to say?" George asked as he draped an arm over Katie's shoulder.

"He knew about my nightmares. He said they're being sent by someone. He wouldn't tell me who."

"Cryptic as usual," George muttered. "Ignore him, Gin. You're just stressed. They'll go away eventually."

"Yeah," Ginny said, turning her back on the fireplace and sinking down into an armchair. "Eventually." She glanced at Katie. "What about you? Did you have a nightmare?"

Katie shrugged. "I don't sleep much anymore, to be honest."

"Speaking of which," cut in George, "you should both get some rest. Big meeting planned for tomorrow."

Ginny looked like she wanted to protest, but instead she pushed her hair off her face and conceded. "Goodnight," she said, curling up like a cat in the armchair. "See you in an hour when I can't sleep."

George laughed a little. "Let's hope that's not the case, shall we?"

She smiled as she closed her eyes. Within minutes, she was sound asleep. George drifted off a half an hour after her. But Katie stayed awake all night, staring into the fireplace and smiling a little each time she felt a twinge in her womb.


	4. The Prince

4. _The Prince_

Snape had hoped to enter the castle undetected, but of course a certain poltergeist made sure his presence was known at once.

Peeves was busying himself tangling up the garlands on the Christmas trees in the Great Hall when Snape walked in. "Ooooh," he squealed, diving down to meet the former teacher. "Look who it is! Snivellus Snapey-wapey! What brings Voldy's half-blood prince to Hogwarts at this time of - "

"_Langlock,_" said Snape coolly, and Peeves began to splutter as his tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. With a glare at Snape, he plucked a large candelabra from a table, soared up to the ceiling, and let the object fall. It hit the table hard, causing a rather large dent and creating a loud clatter that echoed through the halls.

"_Reparo,_" hissed Snape as Peeves swooped away. He set the candelabra upright, hoping against hope that nobody had heard the noise, that everyone was too soundly asleep, but. . . .

"Peeves!" It was Filch, running stiffly down the hallway with a long nightcap trailing behind him. "I'll have you expelled this time, I promise you!" Mrs. Norris snarled angrily from his arms. "Where are you, you bloody bastard?"

"I see they've kept you on, Argus," Snape drawled.

Filch stopped in his tracks. "Snape?" Mrs. Norris squirmed out of his grasp and hit the floor, hissing.

"How ever did you convince them?" he asked, twirling his wand between his fingers. "You know how Death Eaters feel about squibs."

Filch's face turned blood-red. "They needed a caretaker, I suppose," he said shortly. "What are you doing here?"

"I have business to attend to."

"You-Know-Who business?" Filch said knowingly as his cat wound around his legs.

"You-Know-Who is dead," said Snape bluntly. Filch's eyes grew wide, bulging out of his head in a manner highly reminiscent of a goldfish.

"He's dead?"

"Yes. I'm here for something else."

"Oh." Filch nodded, his eyes still popping slightly. "I'll take you to the headmaster, then."

"No need to bother Professor Carrow, Argus," Snape said briskly. "This does not concern him. Or anyone else, for that matter." He glared down at the caretaker. "Do you understand? No one needs to know I am here."

"Of course, Professor," Filch sputtered. "I won't say a word. But Peeves -"

"Let me worry about Peeves." Snape stalked off toward the corridor. Filch gaped after him, frozen in place while Mrs. Norris rubbed against his ankles. "Go back to bed, Argus," said Snape without turning around, and Filch, still muttering about Peeves, scooped up his cat and wandered back the way he had come.

Snape headed for the North Tower, using only his wand for light. The corridor was silent, save for the snores of the portraits and Snape's own footfalls. Most of the portraits he passed remained asleep, but a few looked up as the glow of his _lumos _charm hit them. "Watch it," grumbled a woman in a long purple dress, throwing an arm over her face. "People are trying to sleep, you know!"

Snape didn't acknowledge her. He had his eyes fixed straight ahead, on the staircase he knew was there but couldn't actually see yet. When he finally reached the end of the corridor, he put out his wand light and groped for the banister, feeling his way up the seven flights of stairs. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been to this classroom; perhaps he'd never been at all. The door at the top of the stairwell was locked, as he'd expected. "_Alohamora,_" he murmured, but the door refused to yield. _"Alohamora,_" he said a little louder. The locks remained in place.

Poking his wand into the keyhole below the doorknob, Snape muttered, "_Glacius_." In seconds, ice was emerging from the keyhole, spreading rapidly outward until the entire door was frozen over. "_Alohamora,_" Snape tried again, but the door didn't budge. The locking spell could tell the difference between the ice lodged in its keyhole and the actual key. Whoever had charmed this door was clever; the ice lock-picking trick had never before failed him.

Sighing heavily, Snape pointed his wand at the doorknob. "_Reducto_," he whispered, and with a creak and a _crash_, the door fell inward and landed in splintered pieces on the floor. Gasps and yells began to issue from disoriented portraits lining the North Tower walls. Grimacing - he'd hoped to do this _quietly _- Snape stepped around the shattered door and moved into the Divination classroom.

It was empty, as he'd expected. The board was freshly cleaned, the desks arranged in neat rows, the crystal balls stacked in a corner gathering dust. For a moment, he was afraid he was too late. But then he heard a small _click _and saw a faint beam of light streaming down from a small staircase tucked away in the corner, and he allowed himself a small smile. She was still here.

"Wh-who's there?" called a trembling voice. "I'm armed, you know. I have a wand! Identify yourself!"

Snape rolled his eyes and ascended the stairs. "Come now, Sybill, are you a Seer or aren't you?"

Professor Trelawney's office was was closed, but he saw the shadow of her feet pacing through the crack underneath the door. "S-Severus?" she whimpered. "Is that you? Stay away, I have powerful weapons!"

"Open the door, Sybill. I just want to talk."

"Get away from my office," she said firmly, but her voice was still quivering. "I have nothing to say to you, you murderer!"

"If you don't open the door, I'll open it for you."

"I'm having a premonition!" cried Trelawney dramatically. "I see a figure, tall and dark, bursting into a room . . . attacking a woman . . . but his plan has gone wrong, and now he's in horrible pain . . . he's dying . . . I see the Grim!"

Snape closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is your last chance."

"The Grim!" Trelawney yelled, throwing her weight against the door to hold it shut. "The Grim! Run for your life!"

"_Reducto._"

Trelawney screamed as the door to her office was blasted off its hinges. "Please!" she cried, running behind her bed and cowering.

"Relax, Sybill, I'm not here to hurt you." Snape stowed his wand and held his hands up in surrender. "I need your help."

"I would never help a murderer like you," she spat, blinking rapidly behind her thick glasses.

"I am a murderer," Snape conceded. "But I am not what you think I am."

"You can't talk your way out of anything this time, Snape. Not after what you did. You lied to Dumbledore, you lied to all of us!" She raised a trembling hand to her mouth. "And I didn't see any of it coming."

Snape walked over to her desk, which was covered in teacups and horoscope charts. "May I?" he asked, gesturing at the chair. Trelawney broke down in tears. After a moment, Snape took a seat. "Twenty-one years," he mused quietly. "That's how long you've worked here, isn't it."

She threw herself across the bed, sobbing.

"It is," Snape confirmed to himself. "Tell me, Professor, how many accurate predictions have you made in the past twenty-one years?"

She glared up at him, tears rivering down her cheeks. "I don't know what you're implying," she began, but Snape help up his hand for silence.

"Not very many, Sybill. Not very many."

With a howl of rage, Trelawney reached behind her bed and came up a moment later with a crystal ball in her hand. She heaved it across the room with surprising accuracy; it missed Snape's head by inches and went flying down the stairs into her classroom below.

"It's not your fault, though," Snape said calmly, flicking his wand. The crystal ball soared back into the office. Snape caught it and gently set it on the desk. "Don't you feel the clouds in your mind? Don't you feel foggy, hazy?"

Trelawney pursed her lips. "I owe you nothing," she said.

"Haven't you noticed that your predictions _almost _come true, but never with perfect accuracy?"

She opened her mouth to retort, but his words seemed to strike a chord in her, and she closed it again.

"How long have you felt those clouds, Sybill?" Snape asked, leaning forward. "How many years?"

Trelawney's lip trembled. "T-twenty-one."

"Twenty-one." He rose and began to approach her. "What do you think could be causing those clouds? Have you just lost your touch? Or maybe you never really had it?"

"I had it," Trelawney growled. "I was the greatest Seer in generations."

"Yet you can't See anymore."

"I can't," she admitted, tears welling up in her eyes again. "I try so hard, but something is blocking me."

"I know," Snape murmured.

"What are you doing here, Snape?" she asked as he stepped closer to her bed.

"I came for you."

Her breath hitched. "To kill me?" she whispered.

"No. To help you." He drew his wand. She began to scream. "_Memoria revoco._"

Trelawney's eyes rolled back into her head. She collapsed on the bed, her body quivering wildly while her throat formed strange guttural sounds. "You!" she screamed, clawing at her face. "It was _you!_"

Snape put his wand down and grabbed Trelawney by her shoulders, holding her down until she stopped writhing. "How do you feel?" he asked, releasing her carefully.

"I can see," she breathed. "I remember."

"What do you remember?"

She removed her glasses and stared up at him, her eyes wide. "It all makes so much sense now."

"Sybill, _how much do you remember_?"

"Everything," she said, moving off the bed and crossing to the crystal ball on her desk. She touched it gently. The white fog swirling within the orb suddenly cleared, revealing the distinct image of a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. "I remember everything."


	5. The Dark Lord

5. _The Dark Lord_

"Ginny, wake up."

Ginny moaned and shook her head.

"Open your eyes."

"G'way," she murmured.

"Ginevra. It's me."

Ginny scrubbed at her eyes with a fist and blearily opened them. "Tom?" she said hoarsely, her heart sinking in preemptive disappointment. _Don't hope. Don't even think._

"It's me," he said again, and Ginny suddenly felt wide awake. She sat up straight, her back aching a little from spending the night in an armchair, but she didn't care about that, all that mattered was him, he was here, he was alive, he'd found her, she _loved _him.

"How are you alive? How are you _here_?"

Tom was standing with his back to her, examining a clock above the fireplace. "I heard you crying for me," he said, resting one hand on the mantlepiece. "You revoked the Unbreakable Vow. So I got to come back."

_Don't hope. _

But he was right there, within arm's reach.

"I searched for you everywhere," he continued, still facing the fireplace. "I went back to Denmark first. I thought maybe you wanted to see Potter's grave. But you weren't there. So I checked your home - I used a polyjuice potion, nobody recognized me - and your parents said you were here, at the Leaky Cauldron. Of course I knew that meant you were with the Order. I had to find the hidden headquarters, and then I had to wait until everyone was gone. It took much longer than I would have liked. But I made it. I'm here."

Brow furrowed, she looked around. "Speaking of that, where are George and Katie?"

"They ran out to check on the joke shop. They'll be back soon. We don't have a lot of time."

Ginny wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them up to her chest. "Then come here and kiss me," she whispered.

She could almost hear him smirk. "Anything for you," he said, and then he turned around to look at her -

and where his face should have been was a human skull, with red eyes glowing like lumps of coal deep within the sockets and a thick, fiery cobra poking out from between the jaws like a long tongue, and Ginny was screaming -

"Ginny, _wake up_!"

With a gasp, she broke free of the dream. Ron hovered over her, shaking her shoulders. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, her heart racing. _Don't think, don't remember._ "Just a nightmare." She heard voices chattering around her. "Who's here?"

"Just me and Hermione, so far, but everyone else is coming soon. Big meeting today."

"Oh." She started to get out of the chair. Her clothes were rumpled and wrinkled. "D'you want me to go up and open the door for them?"

Ron gave her a funny look. "The meeting's about _you_."

"Oh." She looked confused. "So you want me to stay, or - ?"

"Yeah, we want you to stay! We want to hear about what went on all last year!"

Her heart contracted a little harder than usual. "I told you already. I went to Denmark with You-Know-Who, and then later he died. And Malfoy's dad exploded." She shuddered a little. "It was disgusting," she added.

"We need more details, though," Ron said.

More details. That could be dangerous. "Like what?"

"Like . . . erm . . . is You-Know-Who gone, or is he only sort of gone, because the Moray Effect could have saved his essence or his brain or something . . . or . . . you know what, Hermione was explaining all of this to me on the way over. I wasn't really listening. Ask her."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "'Mione," she called. Hermione, who was sitting on the couch talking with Katie, looked up. "What the hell's the Moray Effect?"

"Moray?" Hermione crinkled her forehead, and then sighed and said, "_Oh_." She frowned at Ron. "Really, Ronald, does everything I say go in one ear and out the other with you?"

"Probably," Ginny muttered.

"It's the _Morgana _Effect," said Hermione, "and it has to do with surviving death. Morgan le Fay was a powerful dark witch obsessed with healing. She may have been involved with the creation of the first horcrux. Every time she should have died, she essentially willed herself to keep existing while she healed. So I just wondered whether the Morgana Effect applied to Voldemort, too. Maybe he's using some sort of dark magic to stay alive."

"I doubt it," Ginny said, but Kreacher's raspy voice tugged at her memory. _It takes dark magic to send dreams. _"I saw it happen." _Don't think. Don't hope._

"Saw what happen?" It was Neville, coming down the stairs with his wand poking out of his back pocket.

"You-Know-Who dying," Ron explained.

"Oh." Neville grinned. "That had to be such a great moment, huh, Ginny?"

_Don't think, don't think, don't think. _"It was something," she agreed.

"Have a seat, Neville," said Ron, gesturing at the empty armchairs filling the room. Neville took the one nearest to the fire and rubbed his hands together. More members started to come in. Luna Lovegood came prancing down the stairs next, her butterbeer-cork necklace bouncing in sync with her steps. Just behind her were Cho Chang and Roger Davies, who were hand in hand and sporting matching blue scarves. A small engagement ring glittered on Cho's left hand, and Ginny had to fight the urge to snort; they hadn't even been dating a year ago, and now they were fiances. Collin Creevey appeared a few minutes later, followed by Lee Jordan and an exhausted-looking Fred. Michael Corner was next, with a blonde girl whose name Ginny thought was Daphne and a tall boy she knew once played on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. A parade of faces filed past her, some of them intimately familiar and some only vaguely recognizable, and Ginny greeted them all with her best attempt at a smile.

"Oi! Quiet down, then," shouted Ron when the room was sufficiently packed. The loud buzz of conversation calmed to a rustle of whispers. "I'd like to call this meeting to order. We have important things to discuss, so if you'll stay as quiet as you can, everything will go smoothly. I'm sure you all heard the news about You-Know-Who, and - "

A cheer, led by Fred and George, interrupted his speech. Ron sent them a rude hand gesture.

"Please," Hermione shouted above the din. "Quiet down! Oh, hell - _sonorus._ QUIET DOWN!" Her amplified voice carried over the noise, and it was enough to get everyone's attention. "Just because Voldemort is gone," she continues, her voice still booming, "does not mean the world is safe. There are still Death Eaters and spies roaming free. We are going to hear from Ginny Weasley in a moment, and she'll give us more information about that. _Quietus_." Her voice returned to its normal volume. "You're up, Gin," she said with an encouraging smile, and Ginny stood and moved to stand in front of the fireplace.

"Erm," she said awkwardly. She was keenly aware of one hundred eyes on her. "I s'pose I'm just going to tell you what happened last year." She swallowed. _Don't think. _"I was kidnapped by Bellatrix Lestrange," she said evenly. "She took me to You-Know-Who's mansion. I don't know where it is. I was blacked out. But when I woke up, I was in a bedroom in his house."

She went on to explain her escape attempt, the torture she underwent, the secrets she learned about their old potions master. She described the trip to Denmark, and her second escape attempt through the fireplace, and how that one was foiled, too. "I ended up living in Madam Freida's Inn for months. There was a spell on every door and window to prevent me from leaving. When I finally found a way out, I ran into the forest. That's when I found Harry."

"Where is Harry?" asked Neville. "Didn't you say he was coming."

"Not exactly." Ginny took a deep breath. "Harry's dead."

A gasp went up around the room. "No," Hermione whispered, tears filling her eyes.

"He's a ghost," Ginny explained hurriedly. "He chose to stay in the world of the living so he can help us defeat evil. He told me he tried to come back to the Order, but he couldn't find the new location. I told him how to get here, of course. He'll be here any day. I know it."

A thousand questions sprung up around the room, asking about how he'd died, and when, and why, and was there any way to bring him back? Ginny closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath. She felt queasy. She heard Hermione and Ron quieting everyone down again, and she tried to continue telling the story. Her legs wouldn't stop trembling.

"Harry's ghost told me there was one horcrux left - do you all know about horcruxes?"

"Yes," said Neville, but the rest of the room was a chorus of, "No."

With a sigh, Ginny explained horcruxes as simply as she could. "So You-Know-Who had seven of them," she finished. "And only once they were all destroyed could he be killed. Harry went to Denmark to destroy the final horcrux: a locket. But it got the best of him and he died without destroying it. So that night, I snuck into the woods to finish the job for him."

Here was the tricky part. She didn't know how much of the truth she should give them. How could she explain to these people that she hadn't been able to kill Tom Riddle, even in horcrux form? "I, erm, had a hard time," she said finally. Nobody pressed her further. The group had gone completely silent, hanging on her every word. "When it was dead, I went back to the inn. You-Know-Who had found out about Harry being a ghost. He decided it was time to take me back to his house. He told me he would release me, because he'd only ever wanted me for bait, anyway." It wasn't the truth, but it wasn't really a lie, either.

"Before he let me go, he wanted to tell his Death Eaters about Harry." This part of the story she'd rehearsed a dozen times in her head. "When Snape heard, he went ballistic. He used the killing curse on You-Know-Who, grabbed me, and apparated us here, to the Leaky Cauldron. He's been on our side this whole time. And - and that's what happened."

Neville was the one who started the applause, but the rest of them followed his lead immediately. Ginny exhaled heavily and sank back into her chair. _Don't think, don't think, don't think -_

Ron's hand was on her shoulder. "Thank you," he said, mouth close to her ear so she could hear him over the other members chattering. "That can't have been easy."

She tried to smile. _Don'tthinkdon'tthinkdon'tthink -_

Now it was Hermione standing over her, a small frown on her face. "Ginny," she began in a motherly tone. Ginny could hardly hear her over the rest of the Order, who had started up a Quidditch-esque cheer about Voldemort's death. "I don't want you to think I don't believe you . . . but is there anything you left out?"

"Nothing." _Except that I love Voldemort. _

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." _Do. Not. Think._

"All right." Hermione eyed her suspiciously for a second, but then Ron had whisked her away to discuss something with Susan Bones. Alone for the time being, Ginny curled up into herself and closed her eyes tightly.

A skull with fiery eyes danced behind her eyelids.


	6. The Seer

6. _The Seer_

Snape looked out the window at the setting sun. "Are you finished yet?" he asked without turning around.

He heard Trelawney set her crystal ball down with a gentle _thump_. "Nearly," she replied absently. "Only a few more years to catch up on." There was a small _clink _as she picked up a teacup and began to swirl it around. "So Harry Potter died after all, then," she muttered. "Shame."

"I still don't see," Snape drawled, "why you won't let me sum up the past two decades for you." The sun was almost gone. "It would have saved us a good sixteen hours."

Trelawney put the teacup down in its saucer and sighed. "I told you, Severus, it's more complicated than that. I have to find the changes in the universe. It's too subtle for anyone but a Seer to detect."

"At least let me explain myself," Snape said. "You don't need to detect every change in the universe to help me with this one problem."

She was gazing into her crystal ball again. "Divination is lost on you," she muttered. "I only have a few more years. It won't take long."

With an aggravated sigh, Snape leaned his forehead against the windowpane and watched the sun disappear completely behind the trees of the Forbidden Forest. The grounds were empty, at least as far as he could tell, and he wondered idly whether the students were forbidden from going outside, or whether they'd simply all gone home for the Christmas holidays.

"Finished," Trelawney said about an hour later, covering her crystal ball with a handkerchief. "It has been _ages_," she said, running a hand through her frizzy hair, "since I've been able to See." She touched Snape's shoulder gently. "I suppose I have you to thank for that, Severus."

"If you're looking for an apology, you aren't going to get one from me," he muttered, still gazing out the window.

Trelawney let go of him as if she'd been burned. "In that case," she snapped, "if you're looking for help, you won't get _that_ from me."

Snape slowly turned around to face her. "I didn't have a _choice_, Sybill," he hissed. "You must have seen that just now, when you were going back through the years. He would have killed me if I'd refused. I will not regret saving my own skin."

Trelawney let out a huff of air. "You're a stubborn one, aren't you," she said.

"You want an apology? Here: I'm sorry you had to spend twenty-one years locked in your own mind. But if we could go back, I wouldn't do anything differently."

Trelawney resumed her seat and put her head in her hands. "A memory charm," she murmured. "All this time. It was only a bloody _memory charm._"

Snape let her talk to herself for a few moments longer. "What did you feel?" he asked. "The next day, I mean. When you woke up and your Sight was gone."

"I thought I was going mad. Everything was grey and foggy. I couldn't see anything in my crystal ball. I couldn't decipher the tea leaves. It was like waking up and realizing you'd somehow forgotten how to read. I knew there were symbols there, but I suddenly didn't know what to make of them." She touched her crystal orb gently. "I still recognized faces," she said a moment later. "I knew who my mother was. I knew who I was. So I never suspected a memory charm."

"I was careful," said Snape. "I never erased your memories entirely. I just blocked them. I moved them to a part of your mind that you couldn't access. It almost didn't work," he added. "I overheard pieces of your job interview with Dumbledore the next day, and you broke through to the memories long enough to make a prophecy. You didn't remember it later. But your Sight was strong enough to momentarily hold off the spell. It was . . . impressive."

Trelawney wasn't looking at him. "Why did you do it?" she asked. "I know He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named asked you to modify my memory, but why? What did I know that was so dangerous?"

Snape shrugged. "You could have predicted his plans, I suppose."

"Why not just kill me?"

Snape sat on her unmade bed. "For the same reason we made sure not to permanently erase your memories: you know the secrets of the Veil."

Trelawney's eyebrows shot up. "The Veil?" she repeated.

"In the Department of Mysteries."

Trelawney pulled the handkerchief off her crystal ball and leaned forward to look inside. "I haven't thought about the Veil in years," she said as the fog cleared, revealing a long mantle fluttering from an empty doorway. "Why now?" she muttered, and it took Snape a moment to realize she was talking to him, and not the image in the crystal.

"Lord Voldemort is dead, Sybill," Snape said. Trelawney shuddered horribly at the name. "If it were up to me, he would remain dead. But there is a girl in the world of the living who, for some reason beyond her control, loves him." He was looking into Trelawney's eyes for the first time. "And she had to watch him die. I saw something shatter inside of her when he hit the ground. I know a broken heart when I see one."

"Because of Lily," said Trelawney gently, and Snape, without meaning to, flinched as if he'd been punched in the gut. Even after all these years, it was still hard to hear the name.

"I loved her," he said through clenched teeth, "and she was gone." Tears crawled up into his eyes; he blinked them away before they could overflow. "I didn't know about the Veil back then. I'd heard the fairy tales, of course, but I didn't know it was real until I saw it during the battle in the Department of Mysteries five years ago."

"Of course it was real," Trelawney interjected. "All the myths are real."

"I still don't know much about it. But you do. You spent half your life studying it. You must know how it works." His eyes were begging.

Trelawney sighed gently. "I don't know everything," she cautioned. "I only know some . . . but Severus! You can't ask me to bring back the Dark Lord! I won't do it."

"Please, Sybill. It's not just for him."

"People who die are meant to _stay dead_," she said firmly. "It doesn't matter who loved them."

"Loves," hissed Snape. "Not loved. _Loves._"

"What happened to Lily was a shame. But bringing her back from beyond the Veil is not going to make her fall in love with you."

"I wasn't intending on bringing her back," Snape muttered, and Trelawney's mouth dropped open.

"Why not just kill yourself, then," she said almost angrily, standing up abruptly. "If you're so eager to spend the afterlife with her, I'm sure you know of several potions that can do the trick. It would save me a lot of work."

"Suicide is a coward's choice," he replied coolly. "Lily Evans valued _courage_."

Trelawney was silent for a moment, rearranging his words in her head like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. "I see," she whispered, sitting down again. "You want to pass through the Veil and make an exchange."

Snape nodded. "A soul for a soul. I stay, the Dark Lord returns."

"That _is _a courageous decision," she commended. "Noble, too."

"Will you help me?"

She sighed. "I shouldn't."

"But will you?"

"There are so many other people you could bring back instead. Dumbledore. Harry Potter."

Snape shook his head. "Nobody loves Dumbledore or Potter. Not the same way Ginny Weasley loves Riddle. I'm only doing this if it heals a broken heart. Lily would want it that way."

"She'd rather you resurrect her murderer than her own son?"

"Tom Riddle had a miserable life. He was abandoned from his very first day of life. All he ever knew was hatred. If I provide him with a second chance, a chance to be loved for the first time in his entire existence and possibly make room in his soul to love others, too, then haven't I done good?"

Snape saw Trelawney open her mouth to argue, but he pressed on. "We living people have different priorities than the dead. You want me to bring back Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world. I say he's better off dead. Look at his track record. The boy had people lining up to die for him. He was loved by everyone, and he loved everyone in return. He put himself in danger time and time again to save the lives of the people he cared about. Isn't that the very definition of a good soul? Potter shouldn't have a second chance. He doesn't need one. He did everything perfectly. Let him rest. I want to bring back someone who could benefit from living again. Someone who could improve. Because I know I improved because of love, even if it was unrequited."

Trelawney had her hands clasped together. "You've certainly given this a lot of thought," she said finally.

"I have. Will you help me?"

She sighed. "This branch of magic isn't a science," she warned. "I can't promise any of it will work."

"I know. But please, Sybill. Try."

She closed her eyes. "All right," she said finally. "I'll regret it, I'm sure. But I'll tell you everything I can remember about world beyond the Veil."


	7. The Ghost

_7. The Ghost_

Madam Frieda stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. The sun had barely cleared the horizon line, but already she could hear the early risers stirring overhead. They'd want breakfast soon, and now that Ginevra Riddle was gone, there was nobody to serve it but her, Madam Frieda.

She heated up the stove and, with a flick of her wand, cracked some eggs into a skillet. Behind her, flour and water began to mix together of their own accord, forming the beginnings of a pancake. She lined up bagels, bread, and English muffins on the counter, and then enchanted them to jump into the toaster one by one. Bacon, cereal, milk, tea, coffee, fresh fruit, hash browns, oatmeal . . . anything anyone could possibly want for breakfast was here in her kitchen.

Madam Frieda was about to cast a spell on the waffle iron to speed it up a little when she heard the door to her inn squeak open and slam closed. Dusting off her hands on her white apron, she scurried out of the kitchen and back to the front desk. "Welcome to Madam Frieda's Inn," she said cheerfully. "How may I help you this morning?"

The bushy-haired girl on the other side of the counter smiled politely. In spite of her heavy coat, she looked quite cold, with rosy cheeks and a pink nose. "I'm looking for someone," she said, pulling off her gloves and rubbing her hands together. "He was staying here a few days ago."

"Can I have the name?"

"Harry. Harry Potter."

Madam Frieda frowned. "Harry Potter? _The _Harry Potter?"

"Yes. A friend of mine told me I could find him here."

"What friend?"

"Ginny Weasley?" the girl tried.

Madam Frieda shook her head. "I don't know any Ginny Weasley. And I've never met Harry Potter in my life."

"Are you sure you don't know her?" the girl insisted. "Red hair? She was with a man? She stayed here for months. There was an enchantment on the doors that prevented her from leaving."

Madam Frieda looked at the girl suspiciously. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," the girl replied, "but it's Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I've never had a Ginny Weasley at this inn. I'm sorry."

"She - wait a minute, not Weasley. Riddle. Ginny Riddle?"

Madam Frieda pursed her lips. "I knew a Mrs. Riddle," she said carefully.

Hermione sighed in relief. "Right, okay, Ginny _Riddle_. She's a friend of mine from school. She's actually my boyfriend's sister. Anyway, she told me Harry Potter was living here for awhile. Erm, well, not _living_. He's a ghost."

"If a ghost has been staying at my inn, I certainly don't know anything about it."

"Do you mind if I take a look around?" Hermione asked. "I'm sure Ginny was telling the truth. I think she mentioned the basement?"

"The basement?" Madam Frieda repeated. "I suppose. It's right this way." She started to lead the way back into the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, she turned to Hermione and added, "Don't you go stealing anything."

"Oh, I would never." The bushy-haired girl smiled sweetly and followed Madam Frieda down into the basement. It was wide and dusty, as all basements are, with long pipes running in complicated patterns overhead and giant crates stacked up around the perimeter.

"So as you can see, there's nothing down here but supplies," said Madam Frieda.

"Yes," muttered Hermione, illuminating her wand and moving to inspect the corners. The first two yielded nothing but cobwebs, but the third corner was more promising. "Aha!" she cried, reaching behind one of the crates and pulling out a rucksack. "This is his!" She reached inside and pulled out a small object wrapped carefully in a piece of cloth. "This is a piece of a two-way mirror," she explained, unraveling the cloth and revealing the shard. "It was a gift from his godfather - Harry was here!"

Madam Frieda had begun to feel uneasy. What guarantee was there that this girl was telling the truth? "Right, well, you can take the rucksack then," she said, edging toward the stairs, "but that's all. Your ghost isn't here. If you'll leave your address, I'll send you an owl if he turns up later on."

Hermione put the shard back into the sack and pulled on the drawstrings until it was closed. "Thank you," she said, following the innkeeper back upstairs. "You can send your owl to the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Ally, London. It'll end up in good hands there."

"The Leaky Cauldron," muttered Madam Frieda, bustling behind the front desk and scribbling it down. "Is that where you work? Mrs. Riddle used to work there."

"Erm, yes. We worked together. That's how we met." She slung the rucksack over her shoulder.

Madam Frieda paused in her writing. "I thought you knew her from school? Boyfriend's sister, or something?"

Hermione didn't falter. "We're very close," she explained. "Sometimes I can't remember how we met. Ginny also mentioned a graveyard where Harry's body was buried," she added before Madam Frieda could interject. "Do you know where I might find that?"

"Two miles to the west. It's directly off the main road, you won't miss it." Madam Frieda still didn't trust this girl. "Give Mrs. Riddle my love. And her husband as well."

"I will," Hermione promised. "Oh, just one more thing."

"Yes?"

She pulled out her wand. "I'm really, really sorry about this," she said with a sad smile.

Madam Frieda drew her own wand and began to back away. "What are you - "

"_Obliviate!_"

Madam Frieda blinked twice. A bushy-haired girl stood at the front desk, a rucksack draped over her shoulder. "Hello," she said slowly. "Welcome to Madam Frieda's Inn. How may I help you this morning?"

"Oh, my mistake," the girl said easily. "I thought this was a different inn. I'm supposed to meet a friend of mine for coffee, but I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Sorry to bother you." She turned on her heel and marched toward the door.

"Have a nice - " The door slammed, cutting off Madam Frieda's farewell. "Rude," she muttered, looking down at the pile of papers on her desk. One of them had an address scrawled across it. "The Leaky Cauldron?" she muttered. "Whatever did I need that for?" Then the faint smell of burning bacon issued from the kitchen, and with a gasp she hurried back to fix breakfast, never giving the bushy-haired girl a second thought.

* * *

The cold air easily found its way through Hermione's coat, and within seconds she was shivering. "_Ventus,_" she muttered, blasting herself with heat. She tugged her gloves back onto her hands, and then set her wand in the center of her palm. "_Point me._" The wand spun until its tip was pointing north. Her makeshift compass told her that west was to her right. She began to walk down the paved street, pausing every few minutes to renew her heat charm.

In thirty minutes' time, the graveyard came into view. Hermione approached carefully, making sure to stay out of sight of the man on the porch. Billy Stubbs, Ginny had said his name was. Hermione licked her lips and scanned the edge of the forest for any sign of Harry's ghost, or his patronus, but there was nothing. "Harry?" she dared to whisper, even though there was no way he would hear.

Maybe he wasn't here, she reasoned. Maybe he'd finally made it to the Leaky Cauldron, and she was freezing her arse off in Denmark for no reason at all. "Harry?" she said again. Nothing.

Closing her eyes, Hermione raised her wand. This was her last resort, the spell she was the most reluctant to try because to be honest, she didn't know if she could even do it anymore. "_Expecto patronum_," she whispered. Her wand issued a few wispy tendrils of white vapor, but nothing more. Clenching her jaw, Hermione pictured Ron, with his stupid freckly face that she couldn't help but adore, and she imagined him grinning at her and telling her she was beautiful and brilliant and that he wanted to spend his life with her, and a ring on her hand with a diamond that was tiny, but she didn't mind because it meant he loved her, and a white dress and a kiss and a wedding night and a first child and a second child with faces just as stupid and freckly as his, climbing aboard a train to go have their own exciting adventures at Hogwarts, and in spite of the cold she suddenly felt very warm.

"_Expecto patronum._"

A silver otter shot forth from her wand. Exhaling with relief, Hermione called it to her side. "Find Harry," she told it. "Tell him I'm here, and I need to see him.

The otter glided away into the forest, weaving between trees until she could no longer see its glow. Hermione pushed a hand through her hair. Ron was her happy thought. Ron Weasley. That stupid, rude pig from first year. Who would have thought? She'd always pictured herself with an intellectual. She'd never be able to read with Ron, or have deep, meaningful conversations with him about anything other than the Chudley Cannons. He made stupid jokes and didn't care about house elves' rights and he _cheated on his homework_, for pity's sake! He was so wrong for her in so many ways, and somehow he was her happy thought. _That's love_, she thought. _Barging in and ruining every plan you've ever made. _

A new glow had appeared at the edge of the forest. It was much larger than her otter. Hermione squinted as the patronus galloped closer. Her heart began to pound as she recognized its shape. The stag halted in front of her, staring into her face with eyes she couldn't see. "Hermione," the stag said in Harry's voice. "I'm in the forest. Follow the patronus. We can talk there."

"That's it?" Hermione said to the stag. "No 'how are you?' No 'good to see you?'"

The stag didn't reply. It turned its head toward the woods and beckoned for her to come. Sighing, she doused herself with one final hot air charm and then followed the patronus.

Harry's ghost, along with Hermione's otter, was lingering in a clearing only a few hundred yards beyond the tree line. "Hermione," he said when he saw her. The stag cantered off into the trees and disappeared, but the otter floated to Hermione's side. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes. "You really are dead," she said. "I don't know what I expected, but. . . ."

He glided closer. "What are you doing here?" he repeated.

"I wanted to see you. I had some questions, and - "

"Is that my rucksack?" He pointed.

"Oh - yes." She dropped it on the ground at his feet. The otter swooped to push its nose inside. "I went to the inn first. It was in the basement."

"I know. I thought Ginny took it with her." He looked down at it sadly. "I guess not."

"Speaking of Ginny," said Hermione, wiping away a tear as inconspicuously as she could, "she told us you were coming back to London. But you're still here."

He looked sheepish. "I, erm . . . well . . . yes."

"Were you ever going to come back?"

"I don't know." He sighed. "Maybe."

"Why not?"

"I wasn't sure if you wanted me there."

Hermione felt her jaw drop. "What the - why wouldn't we want you there?"

"I failed you," he said. "I died."

She heard herself laugh. "So what? A lot of people die! Do you think Dumbledore failed us? Did Sirius fail us? Did Percy fail us? Well, Percy actually did fail us. That was a bad example."

"Percy?" Harry said. "Percy Weasley? He's dead?"

"Yeah." The otter was rubbing up against her now. She casually scratched at its head.

"How did Ginny take it?"

"Ginny's still in shock about Voldemort dying. I don't think she has room to feel anything else right - "

"_Voldemort_'s dead?" Harry's eyes went wide behind his glasses.

"Oh! You didn't know? Snape killed him. Two days ago. Ginny keeps having nightmares about it. She's been trying not to sleep, but every time she closes her eyes she drifts off for a few minutes and wakes up panicking.

"That's not new," said Harry. "She was having nightmares here, too."

"Really?" Hermione began to fidget with her gloves. "She didn't tell us that."

"Sounds like she didn't tell you a lot of things."

"She did seem to be holding back," Hermione mused. "But she spent the last year kidnapped. That would be traumatizing for anyone."

"Traumatizing?" Harry let out a little bark of laughter. "She _really _didn't tell you anything."

Hermione felt herself flush. "Like what?"

"She was in love with him."

"With who? With - "

"Voldemort."

Hermione scrunched up her forehead. "If that's some kind of joke," she began, but he shook his head.

"He had some kind of anti-aging spell, because he looked the same way he did when he brought her into the Chamber of Secrets, and she completely fell for him. It was the diary all over again. She was calling him Tom, she was sleeping in his bed every night, she was hanging all over him."

Hermione felt as if she'd been punched. "How could she?"

Harry shook his head darkly. "I don't know. I tried to talk her about it, but she wouldn't listen." He sighed. "It's not her fault. She tried to fight it, for awhile." He pushed a hand through his hair, still messy in spite of being made of ectoplasm. "You know, I think he did care for her. As much as Voldemort knew how to care, anyway."

"How do you know?"

"He saved her life," he said. "She went out to destroy the locket - she put herself in danger because _I _asked her to - and when she couldn't do it, Voldemort stepped in and killed it himself."

The world was spinning. Hermione bit down on her lip. "It's just Stockholm Syndrome," she said finally. The otter was turning somersaults in the air in front of her, but she looked right through it. "It happens all the time. People who are kidnapped begin to sympathize with their captors. She'll get over it now that she's back. It'll take time, but she'll realize she never actually loved him."

"That's the thing," Harry said. "I don't think she will."

This was frustrating. "Why not?" Hermione demanded.

"She's stubborn. And she's not dumb. She knows what she felt."

Hermione didn't speak for a moment. "So you think it was real then?"

He shrugged. "Ginny doesn't do things halfway. It's all or nothing with her. I saw the way she looked at him, the way she talked to him. To be honest, that's part of the reason I haven't come back to the Order. I don't know if I want to see her again, knowing she loved him."

Hermione had begun to shiver violently. "_V-ventus_," she said, and warm air blasted her from head to toe. "I do wish you'd come back, Harry," she said. "Ginny does want to see you. And the rest of us do, too. But if you don't want to, I understand."

She started to walk away from him. "Hermione," he said, and she stopped. "Take this." She turned. He was gesturing at his rucksack, still lying on the ground. "I can't use any of these things anymore. Someone should have them."

She crossed back to the sack and hoisted it over her shoulder. "Thank you," she said. "If you ever decide to come back, the door is always open. Erm, sort of. Spell's _revelio_. Not that you'd need it," she amended quickly. "You could just float through the wall."

He smiled tightly. "Let me think about it," he said. "I'm sure I'll see you again."

She smiled back, albeit shakily. "Sooner, rather than later, I hope," she said, and then she turned on the spot and apparated away, leaving behind only her footprints and a faintly glowing otter.


	8. The Snitch

8. _The Snitch_

As usual, Ginny awoke that morning with a pounding heart and the ghosts of her nightmares fresh in her mind. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and stretched her arms up over her head. George was fast asleep on the couch, one arm draped over Katie's shoulder. Katie was wide awake, looking down at George fondly while one hand absently stroked at her own belly. "Hush, little baby, don't say a word," she sang quietly. "Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird."

As the pieces of the puzzle came together, Ginny suddenly felt wildly uncomfortable witnessing this scene. She cleared her throat. Katie jumped a little and tore her hand away from her stomach as quickly as if it had burned her. "Do you really never sleep?" Ginny asked.

"I try not to," she said. "Once in awhile I nod off a bit."

"I'm jealous," Ginny said. "I wish I didn't have to sleep."

"Nightmare again?" Katie guessed, and Ginny nodded. "How long have you had them?"

"Months," Ginny said. "But they're worse than usual, especially the past two days."

"That makes sense," Katie said. "You watched someone die. That's bound to rattle you up."

"Something like that," Ginny mumbled. _Don't think_, droned the mantra in her head.

Katie studied her friend for a moment. "Ginny, did you have feelings for him?" she asked gently.

"What? Of course not."

"It's okay if you did," Katie told her. "I won't judge. I know how hard it can be, when you like someone you've firmly resolved _not _to like." Her eyes drifted toward Ginny's sleeping brother. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to, but you should at least admit it to yourself. You won't be able to heal, otherwise."

Ginny bit down on her tongue until she tasted blood. "I hated him," she said. "I hated every inch of him. I'm glad he's gone."

Katie smiled, but her eyes were sad. "I believe you," she said, matching Ginny's quiet volume. "The trouble is, Ginny, I don't think you believe yourself."

George began to stir, and Katie pressed her finger to her lips. "I won't mention any of this to anyone," she promised in a whisper. "I just want you to feel better, Gin."

Ginny licked her lips. "Thank you," she mouthed.

"G'morning," George mumbled, opening a pair of bleary eyes. "Sleep okay?"

"No," the girls chorused together.

"I expected that from you," he said, poking Katie, "but Ginny? More nightmares?"

"Yeah. Nothing we can do." Ginny shrugged. "They'll go away eventually. Like you said. Right?"

A loud _crack _from overhead interrupted George's answer. "Who's that?" Ginny asked.

Katie shrugged. "We weren't expecting anyone."

Quick, heavy steps marched across the floor above them; an angry voice said, "_Revelio_."

George stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "Sounded like Hermione. In a bad mood, too." He sighed with mock exasperation. "What's Ronnie done now?"

Hermione clomped down the stairs and into view, her eyes hard with anger. She made a beeline for Ginny. "How dare you," she growled.

"Me?" Ginny rose from her cot and glanced at George. He shrugged. "What did I - "

"You lied to us! To all of us." She was seething.

Ginny stood her ground. "What do you think I lied about?"

"For God's sake, Ginny, don't play _dumb _like that!" she cried. "I know all about what happened in Denmark - what _really _happened - with the horcrux - with You-Know-Who - "

Ginny felt her breathing hitch. "Hermione," she said. "Calm down. It's not what you think - "

"No, it's not what I think, it's what Harry thinks," Hermione snapped. "How _could _you?"

"I don't know why you're acting all high and mighty," Ginny fired back. "It's not like you haven't made bad decisions."

"Bad decisions?" Hermione was wringing her hands. "This is more than just a bad decision. You _slept_ with - "

"Shut up!" Ginny shouted.

" - Voldemort!"

_Smack!_

Ginny heard the sound before she actually felt the sting in her palm. Hermione's hand flew to cup her cheek.

All eyes were on Ginny. George spoke first. "That's not true, is it, Gin?" he asked, his forehead crinkled in disbelief.

"Of course it's not," Ginny snapped.

"But you wanted to." Hermione had dropped her hand to her side. A red mark was forming on her face, Ginny noted with satisfaction. "Tell them what really happened that night. Tell them what Harry told me."

"I don't know what - "

"You _kissed _him. You snogged Lord Voldemort."

Ginny's face was on fire.

"You did _what_?" All heads turned to the stairs. Ron was standing on the landing between the kitchen and the headquarters, frozen halfway through taking off his scarf, his eyes wide with horror.

"When did you get here?" asked Ginny, praying he hadn't seen her slap his girlfriend.

"Just a second ago. Just in time to hear . . . you did what?" he finished helplessly.

Ginny felt everyone staring at her. "It's more complicated than that," she tried to explain, but Ron let out a moan and dropped his head into his hands.

"God, Ginny," he said, descending the rest of the stairs. "What in the fiery depths of _hell _possessed you to - "

"Possessed!" cried Ginny. "Don't use that word like you know what it means, Ronald!"

"I've been possessed," he argued. "I wore the bloody locket around my neck for months."

"That's not the same. That's not even close." The room was moving in and out of focus. The fire in the hearth behind her was too hot. She needed air. . . .

"I can't even look at you," Ron was saying.

"Hey, now," George said, stepping forward to intervene, but Ginny cut him off.

"Fine, don't look at me then!" She stomped toward the stairs. "I'm leaving. None of you ever has to look at me again. I'm sorry I'm such a worthless disappointment to all of you. I'm sorry I don't have enough _self-control _to avoid falling in love, or - or getting pregnant!" She whirled to glare at Katie, who had gone white as a ghost.

"You're _pregnant_?" roared Ron.

"No," she shouted back, "Katie is! See, I'm not the only one around here who screws up!"

Katie was crying. "Oi," George yelled, putting an arm around her. "Shut it!"

Ginny about-faced and ran up the stairs, her heart pounding in her ears. "_Reducto!_" she cried, brandishing her wand at the door at the top of the stairs. It blasted apart with a satisfying racket. She burst out of the restaurant and stalked down Diagon Alley, grinding her teeth together. She hated Hermione. She hated Ron. She hated all of them. They didn't understand. Nobody did. Even Ginny didn't fully understand. All she knew was that the one person in the world who could make her feel better was gone, and it was her fault . . . Malfoy had pulled the trigger, but she had loaded the gun. . . .

Ginny pushed into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and let the door slam shut behind her. "Fred?" she yelled. "Are you here?"

There was no answer. "Angelina?" she tried. "Kreacher?"

A muffled groan issued from the back room. "Kreacher, I hear you," she said crossly, kicking over a small display edible wands. "Come out here."

The house elf emerged, scowling, from the back room. "What is she wanting, the filthy blood traitor?" he muttered, sweeping his trademark mocking bow. "Kreacher knows, oh, yes he does. She is wanting to ask about her dreams."

"I am not," Ginny snapped. "I just needed somewhere to go. I was hoping for somewhere empty."

"Mistress Ginny could order Kreacher to leave," Kreacher suggested wryly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Nice try. You're not going anywhere."

"As Mistress commands," Kreacher mumbled, getting to work cleaning up the edible wands. "Mistress Ginny doesn't know who is sending her dreams," he said to himself. "But Kreacher has an idea, oh, yes, Kreacher is having a very good guess indeed."

Ginny conjured up a squashy armchair and settled into it. "All right, fine," she said. "I'll take your bait. I've got nothing better to do." She cleared her throat and adopted a childlike voice. "Who has been sending my nightmares? Tell me, Kreacher!"

"It takes dark magic to send dreams," Kreacher warned. "Only the strongest witches and wizards can be managing it."

"Go ahead, draw it out. I've got all day."

"Dreams can be sent from the world of the living," Kreacher began casually, "or from the world of the dead."

Ginny furrowed her brow. "The world of the dead?" she repeated.

Kreacher nodded. "Mistress Ginny is knowing many people who have passed on into the world of the dead," he said. "Friends, enemies, brothers . . . lovers."

"Lovers?" The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Kreacher said nothing, but his face broke into a grin.

She shook her head. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to make me think it's Tom. But he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't send nightmares. He loved me."

Kreacher shook his head. "The Dark Lord was not being able to love."

"Well, he wanted to love me," she said shortly. "He wouldn't send me nightmares. You wouldn't understand." She ran a hand through her hair. "How did you even know he couldn't love?"

"Kreacher hears things from his old mistress," the elf said cryptically.

"From Sirius's mum? How? Hang on - have you been sneaking back to Grimmauld Place?"

Kreacher stared up at her. "Lady Black is Kreacher's rightful mistress," he announced.

"_I'm _your rightful mistress, you little git," Ginny said. "And I order you to stay away from Grimmauld Place."

He looked disappointed. "As Mistress Ginny commands."

"Good." Ginny thought for a moment. "How come don't you call me Lady?" she asked. "Why am I always Mistress Ginny?"

"Ladies are having pure blood," Kreacher said with a scowl.

"I have pure blood," she said indignantly. "Not that it matters. But I'm not a Muggleborn."

Kreacher said something indistinct. Ginny didn't push it.

"So, someone dead has been sending my dreams," she said, trying to change the subject. "Is that what you were saying?"

Kreacher shrugged. "It is possible."

"Would you please give me a straight answer?" she snapped. "You said you did some digging. You know who it is. Tell me."

Kreacher tugged at his tunic but didn't say anything.

"All right," she said finally. "Let's say, for argument's sake, that is _is _Tom. What is he trying to tell me?" She stood and began to pace. "It's been exactly the same dream four times in a row," she mused. "There must be some significance. He's always standing next to the fireplace. So he's . . . what, burning in Hell? _That_ wouldn't surprise me," she said with an eye roll. "And then he turns to look at me, and his face is a Dark Mark. But it's not a real one, there's something not quite right about it. The snake part is on fire." As she said the words, something in her memory stirred. "A fiery snake," she said slowly, and then: "_Oh!_"

"Mistress Ginny has figured it out?" Kreacher asked.

Ginny nodded excitedly. "It's not a Dark Mark. It's an Unbreakable Vow. _My _Unbreakable Vow. I promised him I'd go to his funeral. He's reminding me."

"The Dark Lord's funeral is being tonight," Kreacher offered. "At sunset."

"How do you know?"

"Kreacher's rightful Mistress," he said, grinning. Ginny fought the urge to kick him.

"Don't take orders from Sirius's mum anymore," she said, resuming her seat. "Don't talk to her, don't listen to her, don't think about her. Understand?" _Don't think. Just like me._

"Understand," Kreacher said, but he was still smirking.

"Where is the funeral?"

"At the Dark Lord's manor," Kreacher said. "Mistress Ginny would be killed if she set foot there. Too many Death Eaters. They are blaming her for their Dark Lord's death, oh, yes, they are blaming the filthy blood traitor."

"I have to be there. I made him a Vow."

Kreacher began to hop up and down. "Mistress Ginny dies either way," he said with glee.

She glared down at him. "We're having our own funeral," she announced. "Tonight. And you're going to help me. That's an order."

Kreacher growled and started to protest, but the front door swung opened and Ginny shushed him. "Hi, Fred," she said as her brother walked in, pulling off his hat. "Cold out there, hmm?"

He nodded and wordlessly shooed her out of the chair. Huge dark circles hung under his eyes. "Tea, Kreacher," he mumbled, and the house elf slumped off to the back room to warm up the kettle.

"Tired?" Ginny asked, leaning against a shelf of Headless Hats.

He nodded again. A thin layer of stubble had formed on his chin; he hadn't shaved in days. "It's Lucy," he said through a yawn. "She has more energy than any child I've ever seen. I haven't slept in weeks. Angelina's going crazy."

"Have Kreacher watch her while you two get some sleep," Ginny suggested.

Fred forced a weak chuckle. "Leave my infant daughter with Kreacher? Right."

"Kreacher would murder it." The elf's gravelly voice drifted out from the back room. "Oh, yes, Kreacher would drown the blood traitor brat, Kreacher would, Kreacher's mistress would be so proud. . . ."

"_Tea_, Kreacher," Fred snapped. "What're you doing here, Gin?" he asked, closing his eyes and stifling another yawn.

"I came by for a chat with Kreacher."

"Yeah, right," Fred said sarcastically. "You're just sick of being underground with the lovebirds. I don't blame you. If I were stuck with George and Katie all day, I'd fancy a chat with Kreacher, too. Or a noose."

"Yeah," she said. There was a loud _crash _in the back room, followed by Keacher giggling madly.

"Kreacher, you git," called Fred without opening his eyes. "Clean it up, or so help me - "

"Why don't I take him out for awhile," Ginny offered quickly. "You can sleep, and I'll have someone to . . . er . . . chat to."

"Thank Merlin," Fred mumbled. "If he happens to die while you're out, don't bother feeling too badly about it, either."

Ginny smirked and went into the back. "Oh, Kreacher," she said exasperatedly upon seeing the state of the room. "_Reparo_." The pile of broken teacups littering the floor flew back together and reset themselves on the table. "Come with me," she said, grabbing his scrawny wrist. He shrieked at her touch and yanked away. "For Merlin's sake, I order you to come with me," she said.

"Mistress Ginny touched Kreacher!" he howled, clawing at his arm. "The traitor touched Kreacher, it burns, it burns!"

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up." He snapped his mouth shut and followed her out of the back room, scowling and glaring all the way. "See you, Fred," Ginny said over her shoulder to the sleeping form of her brother. Kreacher kicked Fred's chair as he walked by; it wasn't a hard enough blow to topple the chair entirely, but it tipped back for a moment, and Fred started awake with a yell.

"Kreacher!" he roared. "_Crucio_!"

Ginny gasped.

_She fell to the floor, writhing. He towered over her. "You will never speak to me like that again," he said quietly, but there was an authority in the words she couldn't ignore. . . ._

_"Crucio!" Every nerve in her body stung like it had been shocked. She craned her neck back and screamed. . . ._

_"Crucio." She arched her back and dug her nails into the floor. _

_"Do it again. Go on. Do it again."_

_"Crucio."_

_"Come on. Is that the best you have?"_

_"Crucio."_

_"Again!"_

_"Crucio!"_

"Stop!" screamed Ginny, and suddenly she was back in the joke shop, her own hands wrapped around her throat. Fred and Kreacher both stared at her.

"I'm not doing anything," Fred said, bemused.

"You - crucio - "

"I wasn't really going to use it. I'm not even holding a wand," Fred said, showing her his empty hands.

"You - oh."

Fred looked concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Fine."

"Mistress is trying to strangle herself," Kreacher pointed out. Ginny put her hands behind her back and clasped them together.

"Sorry." They were still staring at her. "I, er, I'm a little over-tired too." She could still hear that voice _so clearly_ in her head. That high, cold, terrible voice he used when he was being cruel, so different from the voice he used when it was just the two of them, and _what was she doing, she wasn't supposed to think of him._ "Let's go, Kreacher," she said suddenly, pushing open the door. "Have a good nap, Fred."

Kreacher followed her out into the snow. It was late morning, judging by the sun, and the air was warm enough that Ginny didn't bother to pull on her gloves. "Can dreams be sent to people who are awake?" she asked quietly, not looking at the elf.

"No," Kreacher replied, trotting to keep up with her strides. "Waking hallucinations are all in Mistress Ginny's own head."

"Well, that's good."

Kreacher looked up at her, and for the first time in all the years she'd known him, his face held a sympathetic expression. "Kreacher doesn't think it is good."

"No? Why not?"

"Because," he said, gently putting a hand on her wrist, "when your own mind is being the one sending visions, there's nothing that can be done to stop it."


	9. The Friend

9. _The Friend_

"I want to go to Denmark for the funeral."

Kreacher groaned. "Goblins are living in Denmark," he complained.

"So what?"

"Goblins have a feud with house elves," Kreacher said darkly. "Mistress Ginny wants Kreacher to die there, oh, yes, the filthy traitor wants him to suffer. Poor Kreacher, he is never doing anything wrong, he'll die in Denmark and his head will never hang with the heads of the Black house elves before him. . . ."

"Oh, come off it," Ginny said tiredly. "We won't go near any goblins."

"Kreacher won't," he said stubbornly. "Kreacher wants Lady Black."

"What did I tell you about her?"

Kreacher looked like he wanted to argue, but he held his tongue. "Unbreakable Vow," he said a moment later.

"Excuse me?"

"Make an Unbreakable Vow with Kreacher. Swear he won't die."

"I'm not doing that."

"See?" Kreacher shrieked. "Mistress Ginny is wanting Kreacher to fall into her trap, oh, yes, she is!"

"It's not a trap!" Ginny said exasperatedly. "I just - I don't know, there's a _chance _you could die. There's always a chance any of us could die. What if that building fell over and crushed us?" She pointed at Flourish and Blotts. "It would be an accident. Not a bloody trap."

"Kreacher won't," the house elf began, but Ginny interrupted.

"This isn't up for discussion. I'm your mistress, you have to do what I say. I order you to accompany me to Denmark. Madam Frieda's Inn, specifically. And stop being so difficult all the time, it's exhausting." She grabbed his scrawny arm. He made a sour face, but refrained from pulling away. "Get ready," she warned him, and then she turned on the spot and apparated to the familiar road that led to Madam Frieda's.

Kreacher clung to her legs. "Goblins," he growled.

Ginny looked down at him with contempt. "Get off me."

"Kreacher smells them, the filthy goblins, they are here somewhere, they're hiding like cowards."

"I don't know if you're trying to fool me or if you're actually just mad," Ginny said, trying to shake him off her leg, "but I've never heard of a feud between goblins and elves. And believe me, I know everything about house elves. I've sat through hours of Hermione's speeches on the subject. Get _off_ me!"

With a whimper, Kreacher let go and hurled himself toward the safety of the inn. Ginny followed at a slower pace, keeping her eyes fixed on the door and trying not to let the memories overwhelm her. Only a few days ago she'd been trapped here . . . only a few days ago she hadn't really _minded _being trapped here. . . .

"Mrs. Riddle!" Madam Frieda cried when Ginny came through the door. Her cousin Evangeline, who was in the kitchen busily serving guests, threw a wave over her shoulder. Ginny caught sight of Kreacher, who was crouched behind an armchair with his eyes squeezed shut.

"Get up," she ordered, and, moaning, the elf came to her side.

"Oh, is he yours, then?" Madam asked. "He burst in here a moment ago shrieking about goblins, I didn't know what to think."

"He's mine, unfortunately," Ginny sighed, leaning up against the front desk.

"Where's Mr. Riddle?" asked Madam Frieda.

_Don't think don't think don't think. _"He's, erm, preoccupied. I just came back to . . . er. . . ."

"To get your dresses?" Madam supplied. "You left your whole wardrobe behind."

_Oh, thank Merlin. _"Yes."

"You'll need this." Madam Frieda rummaged through a drawer for a few seconds and then pulled out a silver key. "Nobody's touched the room, other than to make up the bed. I had a feeling you'd be coming back for the clothes." She dropped the key into Ginny's open palm.

"Thank you." She turned to Kreacher and adopted a snobbish tone she'd once heard Draco Malfoy use. "Come along, Kreacher. I'll need help with my dresses." She marched up the stairs. Kreacher trailed behind her, looking nervous.

"There are no goblins here," he reported as they walked down the hallway toward Ginny's old room.

"Phew," Ginny said sarcastically, pushing into the room that had once been hers. "Okay, here's where I need you," she said, closing the door and moving to sit on the bed. "I don't know how to throw a funeral."

Kreacher stared at her. "The traitor is needing Kreacher's help," he muttered.

"Yes, we've established that," she said impatiently. "Do I need some kind of spell to make it official? Or flowers? Or what?"

Kreacher shook his head. "Nothing like that. Just a speech. Just remember him."

"Are you sure?" She began to fidget. "What about guests? Shouldn't there be other people there? Friends and all that?"

"The Dark Lord had no friends."

Ginny blinked. "That's not true," she said suddenly, standing up.

"Mistress Ginny thinks she knows better than Kreacher," he scoffed

"I _do _know better than you," she said. "Tom had one friend." She was already starting for the door.

"Who?" Kreacher asked crossly, leaping after her.

"Billy Stubbs," she replied, walking briskly back down to the lobby. "He lives in a graveyard. I'm sure he knows more about funeral-planning than you."

"Goblins prefer graveyards," Kreacher whined, but Ginny ignored him and walked out of the inn. How strange that only three days ago, she'd needed help to escape this building, and now all it took was a simple push on the door.

"It's only a few miles that way," Ginny told her elf, pointing. "Do you want to walk? Or apparate?"

Kreacher looked at her as if she'd asked whether he had two heads. "Apparate," he answered, snapping his fingers.

"No," Ginny started, lunging for him, but she was a split second too late, and her hands closed around thin air. "_Damn it_, Kreacher," she muttered, closing her eyes and turning on the spot. The world pressed down on her, squashing the air from her lungs and squeezing painfully on her sinuses. She would never get used to this sensation. She hated apparating. "Kreacher!" she cried when she finally broke out on the other side. She stumbled and grabbed a headstone to keep herself from falling. She could see Kreacher's ears poking out from behind another headstone a few yards away. "We were supposed to go together!"

"Mrs. Riddle?" a wavering voice called from the porch. Ginny looked up to see Billy, wrapped up in blankets and perched in his rocking chair. "Where did you come from?"

"I apparated." She climbed the small set of porch steps and went to his side. "That's like . . . teleporting . . . I suppose," she explained lamely when he looked confused.

"Where's Tom?" Billy asked, standing up and craning his neck to see around her.

"Tom's not here," Ginny said. _Don't think. _"He passed away." The words tasted bitter.

"No," Billy whispered. "How?"

"It was my fault," she said. "If I hadn't been so stubborn, he would've been fine."

"Oh, Ginevra," the Muggle said, folding her into an embrace. "I'm so sorry for your loss." He hugged her for a long moment. "It's normal to feel guilty in these situations," he murmured in her ear, "but you can't blame yourself."

She lost track of time as he held her. It was Kreacher who finally interrupted them, with a loud complaint about the cold. "Oh, I'm so rude," Billy exclaimed, pulling away from her. "Won't you both come inside?"

He ushered Ginny in ahead of him and threw a match on the logs in the fireplace to start up a blaze. "I hope that's better," he said to Kreacher, patting his head fondly. Kreacher looked startled, then disgusted.

"Don't bother being polite to him," Ginny said. "He won't return the favor."

Billy sank into a stiff-backed chair and laughed. "It's no trouble, no trouble at all!" He leaned forward a little to warm his hands by the fire. "Will there be a memorial for Tom?" he asked, face growing serious.

Ginny fidgeted. She still hadn't sat down. This was the very room where, less than a week ago, Tom had said he loved her . . . _don't remember, don't think. . . ._ "That's actually why I'm here," she said. "There's an official funeral tonight. But I would rather have a private one. A smaller one. Maybe with just you and me. You're the only real friend he ever had, you know."

Billy's eyes began to grow watery. "I'm touched." He leaned his chair back on two legs. Ginny fought the urge to scream at him to stop, to tell him that Tom hated that. "Of course I'll help you. Do you want to go right now?"

Ginny shook her head. "Tonight. At sunset."

"Okay." Billy reached over to give her elbow a comforting pat. "Tonight at sunset."

"And it'll be official, right? It's a real funeral?"

"Of course. It's a ceremony to honor and remember him. That's as official as you can get."

"Okay." Ginny exhaled slowly. "At sunset, then."

"Goblins come out at sunset," Kreacher mumbled from his place by the fire. Ginny rolled her eyes, but Billy looked intrigued.

"Goblins?" he repeated, leaning down to talk to the house elf.

Kreacher looked confused. "The Muggle is talking to Kreacher," he muttered. "Why is it talking to Kreacher?"

"Can't you have a conversation without being horrible?" Ginny asked exasperatedly, but Billy was laughing.

"So your name is Kreacher?" he said, reaching out for a handshake. "I'm Billy. It's nice to meet you."

Kreacher looked at the outstretched hand as if it were a hunk of garbage.

"Shake hands," Ginny ordered, and reluctantly, Kreacher did.

"So you're worried about goblins," Billy said.

"Goblins and house elves have a feud, apparently," Ginny said with an eye roll.

"Well, Mr. Kreacher, I've never seen a goblin anywhere in this cemetery," Billy assured the elf.

Kreacher furrowed his brow. "The Muggle is calling Kreacher 'mister,'" he said slowly.

Billy smiled. "Is that okay?" he asked. "Would you rather be called Sir?"

Kreacher looked up at him in awe. "Just Kreacher," he said finally. "Just Kreacher is fine." He fidgeted with the edge of his loincloth. "Can Kreacher get anything for you?" he asked suddenly. "Tea? Food?"

"No, thanks." Billy waved his hand lazily. "You're my guest. Is there anything I can get for _you_?"

Kreacher's mouth, to Ginny's amusement, dropped open. He gaped at Billy for a long moment. "Kreacher is fine," he said finally.

"Good." Billy patted him on the head and gave him a little nod.

"The Muggle bowed to Kreacher," the elf whispered, his eyes wide. His lips, usually twisted up in a scowl, began to curve into a faint smile.

"So there's a rift between the you and some goblins, is that right?" Billy asked. Kreacher nodded. "I'd love to hear the story."

Kreacher jumped up eagerly. "Long ago, the goblins were being jealous of the mighty house elves," he began, and then launched into a four-hour reenactment of an ancient, magical creature-filled war that Ginny was fairly certain Kreacher had entirely invented. Billy paid close attention, nodding and gasping in all the right places, and Ginny couldn't tell whether he was feigning interest (like she was) or whether he actually cared about the story. Probably the latter, she decided. Muggles were always fascinated by magic, even the boring parts.

"And when the last goblin had fallen," cried Kreacher dramatically, miming the act of stabbing someone with a sword, "the house elves cheered and gathered the bodies of the ugly abominations, and then they cooked the corpses into pies and stews for their masters, and they feasted for days on the flesh of their enemies!"

Ginny's noses was wrinkled in disgust.

"The goblins of the North vowed to take revenge on the house elves," Kreacher continued ominously. "To this day, they are still sitting and waiting in their banks and caves, biding their time until they can attack us. But history will repeat itself. We will not fail our ancestors. The ground will once again be stained with the blood of the goblin scum!" He swept a huge bow, panting slightly.

Billy began to applaud nervously. "That was truly something," he said. Kreacher smiled and bowed again.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "The sun is going to set soon," she reminded them, standing up to stretch her legs. "I don't want to miss it."

"We won't miss it," Billy assured her. "We'll go out right now." He began to rise stiffly. Ginny could imagine his joints creaking and popping. She stepped forward to help him up, but Kreacher was already there. "Thank you, Mr. Kreacher," he said.

"Just Kreacher," the elf insisted, but he was grinning.

The trio went outside, where the sun was hovering above the horizon line. Billy led the way to a blank tombstone at the back of the cemetery. The stone was smaller than the ones around it; the larger sepulchers around it all but hid it from sight. "There's nobody buried here," Billy explained, rubbing his palm along the stone fondly. "It's not reserved for anybody, it's just empty."

Ginny looked down at it. She felt hollow. "It's better this way," she said. "Easier." _There's nobody there, _she told herself. _No body, because he didn't die, because he's alive._

She turned her face up toward the dying sun. It had just dipped below the tree line. "I want to start now," she said suddenly. "Billy, what do I - what do I say?"

He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Just tell him what he meant to you."

She stared at the stone. It was smooth and blank, just like the parchment in the diary, and she almost laughed aloud as she realized she'd come full circle. She'd met him because of an empty book; she'd lost him because of an empty promise; she was saying goodbye to an empty grave. "I don't know what to say," she admitted finally. "Will you start?"

Billy gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Of course," he said. He took a step forward and put his hand on top of the gravestone. "Tom Riddle, you are proof that people can change," he said fondly. "You and I were horrible to each other back at Mrs. Cole's, but when we grew up you turned out to be a kind, thoughtful individual."

Kreacher nudged Ginny. "Is he talking about the Dark Lord?" he whispered, eyebrows raised. Ginny shushed him.

"They say I was your only friend," continued Billy, and Ginny saw tears welling up in his eyes again, although his voice didn't waver. "I can't see how that's true. You sat with me on that porch for months, just talking to me, catching up, making jokes. You made it so easy to like you. And I can't be the only one who felt that way." He bowed his head a little. "I'll miss you, Tom. But I'm sure we'll see each other again someday, if wizards go to Heaven, or if Heaven even exists." He let his hand slide off the headstone and shoved his fist in his pocket. "Until then," he said with a brave, trembling smile, and then he stepped back.

Kreacher tugged on his sleeve. "Were you talking about the _Dark Lord_?" he asked incredulously. Ginny kicked him discreetly.

"Do you want to say something?" she asked the elf, stalling for time.

Kreacher nodded and stepped up to the rock. "The Dark Lord was powerful and great, but he is also being responsible for Master Regulus's death, and so Kreacher is glad he is gone." He expelled a glob of spit from his mouth. It landed in the snow at the foot of the stone.

"Kreacher," Ginny cried, but then she caught sight of the sky. The sun was halfway gone. It was now or never. "I guess I'm up," she said, crossing to the stone. She took a deep breath. "I don't really know what I'm supposed to say," she said again, glancing at Billy. He offered her a gentle smile. She exhaled. Her breath formed a foggy cloud in front of her. "I guess . . . you were the first person who ever noticed me, outside of my family. And that made me feel special. And because of that, I did things for you that I never should have done." She felt her nails digging into her palm. The sun had set.

She wasn't dead yet.

"I put people in danger for you," she continued. "And in the end, in the Chamber, I found out I meant nothing to you. I was just bait. I was a pawn in your chess game. Anybody else in my position would have hated you for that. I wanted to hate you. I _tried. _For years. But sometimes, when I was asleep, when I couldn't control my mind, I would remember. You were the first thing I ever loved, the first thing I ever hated, the first thing I ever . . . the first one who made me realize life is dangerous, and terrifying, and horrible, but it's also lovely and passionate and beautiful, and that you _need_ the darkness in order to appreciate the light."

Her throat had begun to sting. "And I do appreciate the light. There was so much hatred in you, so much darkness and coldness and stone, but sometimes you were so damn _beautiful_, Tom, and I'm not talking about your face, I'm talking about your _soul_, your broken soul, the one whose pieces I helped sweep up and pour back into you; and once in awhile those broken pieces almost fit back together, and those were the moments when I loved you."

She took a deep, shuddery breath. To her utter astonishment, she was crying. "I know it's my fault you died. It isn't fair, is it? You saved me so many times, and in the end, I'm the one who killed you." She laughed and swiped a freezing hand across her eyes. "You died thinking you couldn't love me, but I don't think that was true. You put yourself in so much danger for me. You destroyed the last horcrux for me. You made yourself vulnerable, and that's all love is, isn't it? Letting somebody in so close that they could destroy you if they wanted to?"

The cold was setting in fast now that the sun was gone. "I did want to destroy you. At first. Even in the end, actually. Because you were bad, and I was good, and that's how we've always been. Except we haven't. People aren't black and white. You've done noble things. I've done evil things. We are both light and we are both dark, and without you I'm not the same, I can't appreciate anything, I'm too numb, I'm too hollow and broken, just like your soul, except instead of my soul it's my heart, and I hate you so much, Tom Riddle, for making me need you."

There was more she wanted to say, so much more, but she couldn't find the words. She squeezed her eyes shut and sank to her knees, crying hard for the first time since he'd fallen.

_Don't think_, a part of her whispered, but it was far too late for that now.


	10. The Bard

_10. The Bard_

Snape sat at a desk built for students and watched Trelawney rifle through her bookcase. "It's here somewhere," she was mumbling.

For the fourth time, Snape cleared his throat. "If you'd just tell me what you're looking for, maybe I could help you find it," he said with forced politeness.

"No need." With a flourish, Trelawney pulled a thick book from the bottommost shelf and cradled it in her arms. "I knew you were here," she whispered to the book, pressing her lips against the cover and purring to it softly.

Snape looked at her with mild revulsion and contemplated spitting out a sarcastic comment, but in the end he wrote off the peculiar scene as part of her overall eccentricity. "That's the book you were looking for?" he said instead, tilting his head to read the title. "Is this supposed to be a _joke_, Sybill?"

She moved to the desk next to him and set _The Tales of Beedle the Bard _before her. "It's no joke," she replied, a huge grin plastered across her face as she pulled open the battered cover. She gently flipped past the title pages, one by one, until she'd reached the first story. "'The Tale of the Three Brothers,'" she read delightedly.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's a bunch of fairy tales," he drawled. "It's just myth." His head was beginning to ache. This woman was _impossible. _

"All the myths are true," she said mysteriously, running her hand over the words on the page. Under her touch, some of the letter began to glow. She turned the page carefully and began to caress a large illustration of Death. As the pads of her fingers touched his outline, two eyes appeared beneath his hood, glowing brightly like the letters on the recto. "Just as beautiful as always," she murmured to the drawing.

"The _Veil,_ Sybill," he coaxed. "I want to know about the Veil."

"No need to get so upset," she murmured, and Snape wasn't sure whether she was talking to him or to Death's glowing eyes.

His patience snapped. "Upset?" He stood, nearly overturning the desk. "I came here nearly _two full days ago _to ask you a simple question, and now here we are, reading the bloody Tale of the bloody Three Brothers while you spout cryptic nonsense about _myths_! I think I have every _right _to be upset, you deranged bat!"

Trelawney ignored his outburst. She continued to run her hand over every page, causing certain letters to glow and certain pictures to reveal things invisible to the naked eye. When she reached the last page, she gently closed the book and passed it over to the potions master. "Read," she instructed, sitting back with a satisfied smile on her face.

Snape wanted to hit her - with a curse or with his fist, he wasn't quite sure. "I grew up with these stories. I know them by heart."

She pronounced each syllable very carefully: "Humor me."

He glowered at her, but he took his seat and opened the book to the first story. "'There were once three brothers who were travelling,'" he read, but then he stopped. "Wait - something's wrong." _There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. _That's how the story started. He'd heard it a thousand times. But the words on the page told a very different story indeed.

The letters that Trelawney had touched, the ones she had made glow, were still shining proudly on the page; the rest of the text was gone, as if it had sunken into the book and left behind no trace of its existence.

_THE VEIL TO DEATH'S DOMAIN._

"'The Veil to Death's Domain," Snape read. Trelawney looked tremendously pleased with herself. "'There was once a beautiful enchantress named Morgana.' Is this another fairy tale?" he spat, fixing Trelawney with a glare.

Trelawney said nothing, only reached over and turned the page for him.

Snape clenched his left hand into a fist and leaned back over the book. He read through the collection quickly, finishing in only a quarter of an hour while Trelawney watched in silence. "I don't understand," he said finally, after scouring the final page.

"Which part?" Trelawney asked, motioning for him to hand the book back to her.

"It's not - it's just another _story_."

Trelawney began to stroke the book's spine absently. "Beedle was more than just a storyteller, you know," she said fondly. "He created the Veil."

Snape didn't say anything, but he felt his pulse increase slightly. _Finally_, her babbling was becoming relevant.

"He was a Seer," she continued dreamily. "A distant ancestor of mine, in fact." (Snape doubted it.) "He was a childhood friend of Morgan le Fay, a witch with an obsession for eternal life.. He shared that obsession. When she died, he built the Veil and enchanted it so that his friend could walk between the worlds."

"But that's not how it actually _works. _It's not a _door. _People who pass through never come out again."

"Precisely." Trelawney was nodding. "Because on the other side of that Veil, Death is in charge. And he does not give up his souls so easily."

"I know all of this. What I need is a way to get a soul _out_."

She tapped the book. "So did Beedle. When he went through the Veil into Death's domain to rescue his friend, he found she was trapped. Death was surprised to see Beedle. There had never been a living man in this realm before. Beedle asked Death to allow Morgan to return, but Death refused. He would not give up a soul that was rightfully his. Beedle argued, and eventually they came to an agreement: Death would cleave Morgan's soul in half. One piece would stay, the other would leave with Beedle."

"Yes, I read that in the story, thank you," Snape snapped.

"Well, use your brain for one second, then, Severus," she fired back. "Morgan le Fay coming back from the dead? A soul is split in two? What does that sound like to you?"

He thought for a moment. "The Morgana Effect," he said finally. He began to trace his lips with a fingertip. "And a horcrux, I suppose."

Trelawney nodded. "The first horcrux."

Snape almost asked how she knew what horcruxes were, but he was sure the answer would be long and boring, and frankly he didn't care. "The Dark Lord's soul is already split. He should be able to pass back through the Veil, then, shouldn't he?"

"It's not quite so simple, I'm afraid. There's a little bit more to the story. After Morgan left, Death realized that the piece of her soul still within his realm had become evil when it was separated from its other half. Unlike the original, it was vile and cruel and ugly, and Death hated it. He never again made the mistake of splitting a soul. From then on, only complete souls could walk between worlds, and as the years passed and people learned to take greater advantage of him, Death became stricter and refused to release any souls at all. Anyone who came through the Veil would be trapped. Anyone who died would stay dead."

Snape was quiet for a long moment. "So the Dark Lord is stuck there, then."

Trelawney shook her head. "Not necessarily. As I told you before, Severus, none of this is a science. Death can be bargained with. Death can be persuaded. It's happened before."

"According to the fairy tales," Snape shot bitterly.

"The fairy tales are true, Severus, how many times do I have to say it? Beedle knew Death intimately. He made the first deal. Nobody could possibly write about the subject as accurately as he."

Snape sighed and put his face in his hands. "So what you're telling me," he said through his fingers, "is that I have to find the bloody Veil, walk through it, and beg Death to take my soul and let Voldemort's go."

"Yes."

"And if Death isn't in the mood, he'll trap me forever."

"Yes."

"But because your distant ancestor, who was an author of _fairy tales_, managed to make a trade, there's a possibility that I might be able to, too."

"Yes."

Snape let his head slip from his hands and hit the table. "You have been less than unhelpful."

She laughed. "Oh, I won't leave you alone to do it, of course. You'd muddle everything. I'm coming along."

He lifted his head and stared at her. "Sybill," he drawled, "you do realize that this endeavor is, quite literally, a suicide mission?"

She nodded excitedly. "I've always wanted to go, ever since I was a girl. I studied the subject of death _extensively. _But they moved the Veil into hiding centuries before I was born, to keep people safe, so I thought I had no chance. Now that you know where it is. . . ." She trailed off, eyes shining.

"What makes you think you'll make it out alive?" Snape asked, one eyebrow arched.

"Beedle's blood runs in my veins," she said simply. "If he could bargain with Death, then so can I."

Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Severus, you need me. I could be useful. I know more about the world of the dead than anyone else you know."

"Except the ones who've actually died," he muttered, but if she heard him she didn't react. She gazed at the book fondly before snapping it shut and standing to return it to the bookcase.

"When do you want to leave? Do you want to go now?"

He looked out the window. "It's the middle of the night."

"So?" She was halfway up to her office. He followed her.

"I'm exhausted, Sybill. I haven't slept since I arrived. Give me until the morning, at least."

She was already pouring over her crystal ball. "At dawn, then," she said, waving her hand at him to shoo him away from her desk. "You can sleep here, if you want, so long as you don't snore."

Snape looked at her small bed, nose wrinkled as if he'd encountered a bad smell. "I'll sleep in my old office," he said, making for the door.

"I'll come find you in the morning!" Trelawney said cheerfully, twisting her hands in complicated patterns over the orb, and Snape repressed a groan and didn't bother to stop the door from slamming behind him.

* * *

**A/N: I own a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and when I was writing this chapter I literally went through and highlighted every letter, in order, that was needed to make The Veil to Death's Domain story work. And I typed it in a specific format, which involved including only the highlighted letters and a single space for every unhighlighted letter, so it looked as if the "useless" letters had vanished or turned invisible or something. I was so excited to show you, because it actually worked out (which makes it almost canon, except I'm so far AU at this point that it doesn't even matter).**

**And then the Doc Manager went and messed up the spacing, and deleted all kinds of letters, and none of it made sense anymore, and I didn't even realize until a few hours after I hit Publish, and I was really confused and kind of frustrated, and I just felt the need to share that with all of you.**

**Ugh. If you want to see the original way I wrote it, PM me, I guess, and we'll see if it lets me send it the right way there.**


	11. The Servant

_11. The Servant_

It was as if all the tears she'd stored up over the past three days were bursting to escape her eyes at the same time. Ginny sat on the sofa with her legs pulled up to her chest, tears streaming silently but steadily down her cheeks. Her head throbbed in synch with her pounding heart, and every beat sounded like _Tom, Tom, Tom._ Kreacher had kindly brought her a cup of tea, but she hadn't even glanced at it. She cried for Harry, for Percy, for Bill, for Sirius, for Dumbledore, for the loss of love and innocence and good and evil, and most of all because crying was better than numbness.

"So you say Tom was some sort of Dark Lord?" she heard Billy asking Kreacher.

"Oh, yes, the Dark Lord was being powerful, he was," Kreacher said cheerfully. "He killed all the mudbloods, all the Muggles, all the unworthy, filthy blood traitors, oh, yes, Kreacher's old mistress adored him, she did." He sighed wistfully.

"Bloodmud?" Billy repeated. "What's bloodmud?"

"Mudblood," Kreacher corrected patiently. "Mudbloods are being the filth of the wizarding world, oh, yes, they are the impure ones, the ones who steal the magic from the poor purebloods like Lady Black!"

"That sounds a little bit biased," Billy began, but Kreacher interrupted with a speech about purity and blood traitors.

"And that's why Mistress Ginny had no chance with the Dark Lord, oh, none at all. She is being a filthy blood traitor, the Dark Lord deserved someone pure, like Kreacher's _true _mistress, not the traitor, not the mudblood lover."

"Don't say that word," Ginny snapped. It was the first time she'd spoken in hours. The elf jumped and looked up at her guiltily, as if he hadn't really meant for her to hear. "Don't say it ever again. Do you hear me? I forbid you."

Kreacher narrowed his eyes and turned away to spit into the fire.

Ginny's eyes blazed. "What _happened _to you?" she cried, grabbing him by the scrawny shoulders and spinning him to face her.

Kreacher looked confused. "Kreacher is begging your pardon?"

"What made you so _bitter_? _Answer me._"

Something in the elf's face twisted, and then Kreacher was on his feet. "Kreacher was abandoned by his rightful owner!" he shouted, and Ginny was shocked that his voice was capable of such a volume - she was used to the mutterings.

"We've been over this. Sirius's mum is _dead_," she said slowly and clearly. "That's not abandonment. That's _death._"

Kreacher was cackling, but there were tears rolling down his wrinkled face. "Not by Mistress Black," he choked, collapsing to the floor. "By Kreacher's _other _owner. By Harry Potter!"

Billy got up quietly and left the room. Ginny gaped at the elf. "Get up," she said disgustedly, but Kreacher didn't. "What do you mean, Harry abandoned you?" He didn't respond. He was still laughing on the floor. "_Kreacher_."

Kreacher glared up at her. "Master Harry went away," he said, voice cracking. "He never came back for poor Kreacher, and Kreacher was all alone again, all alone!" He began to tug on his ears and wail.

"Okay," Ginny said as soothingly as she could, carefully nudging him with her toe. "Okay, slow down."

"M-Master Harry left the house of Black," Kreacher whimpered, curling up into the fetal position. "He and Master Ron and the mudbl - " he emitted a strangled gasp " - the Granger brat," he amended, rubbing at his throat. Billy had slipped back into the room, a steaming cup of tea in his hands, and he considerately set it on the floor in Kreacher's line of sight. Kreacher pushed himself up into a sitting position and took a careful sip. "The Muggle makes good tea," he sniffled.

Billy's smile failed to cover his look of concern. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Kreacher didn't answer, just took another swig from the teacup.

"Come on, Kreacher," urged Ginny. "Tell me what happened."

Kreacher's lip began to tremble. "Kreacher cannot tell," he said after a moment.

Ginny wanted to throw him into the fire. "I swear to _Merlin _you are the biggest disgrace to house elves I've ever - "

"Kreacher cannot tell," he interrupted, setting the now-empty teacup back on the floor. "But Kreacher can show."

The room was quiet.

"What do you mean, show?" Billy asked finally.

"Dreams," the house elf answered, getting shakily to his feet. "House elves know about dreams."

Ginny understood before Billy did. "You said it takes dark magic to send dreams," she accused.

Kreacher nodded. "But not for house elves. It is coming naturally to house elves."

"You can send us dreams?" Billy said, incredulous. "This magic business, I swear, it's unbelievable!"

Kreacher didn't let his golf-ball sized eyes leave Ginny's face. "Kreacher can show," he croaked.

She sighed. "It's safe, right?" she asked. "You aren't going to - I don't know, poison my mind from the inside, are you?"

The elf shook his head so hard that his ears flapped around and hit him in the face. "Mistress has Kreacher's word."

"I think it sounds exciting," Billy offered. "Could you send dreams to me, too?"

"Send dreams to the Muggle?" Kreacher said. "Kreacher supposes."

"Excellent!" Billy clapped his hands once and began to rub them together. "Well, we'd better get to bed then, hadn't we? Evangeline - my wife," he added for Kreacher's benefit, "is taking the night shift at the inn, so Ginevra, if you'd like to sleep in our bed, it's all right with me. I can take the couch, or - "

Ginny waved her hand. "I don't mind the couch," she said.

Billy led her to the sofa and gave her a worn Afghan to cover herself with. "My room's around the corner," he told the house elf. "Is that a problem? Will the dreams be able to reach me through the walls?"

Kreacher snorted. "The Muggle doubts Kreacher's power," he said to himself, a smirk on his thin lips. "Go to bed, Sir Muggle. Kreacher will send the dreams."

Billy retreated into his bedroom, and Ginny reclined on the couch, exhaling slowly. She wondered what George and Katie were doing, or Fred, or even that git Ron. Were they looking for her? Were they concerned that she'd been away this long? Was there a search party tracking her down? Or had they forgotten about her, as usual, because she was the youngest, the baby, the tag-along annoyance?

"Mistress Ginny must clear her mind," Kreacher told her. He was sitting on the floor, back pushed up against the couch with his long fingers pressing against his temples. Ginny closed her eyes and exhaled again, trying to release her anxieties with the out-breath. It must have worked, because Kreacher didn't say anything, and within a quarter of an hour she'd drifted off enough to dream.

* * *

_Ginny was standing in the foyer of number 12, Grimmauld Place. The entryway was dark, but she could make out the outline of Mrs. Black's portrait. She heard laughter emitting from the end of a long hallway - she picked out Ron's loud cackle immediately - and she began to walk toward the sound, her footsteps muted by a thick carpet of dust._

_This hallway, she remembered, would deposit her in the basement kitchen. She hung back for a moment, debating whether it was wise to actually enter the room, but in the end her courage won out - she _was _a Gryffindor, after all - and she slipped into the room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were huddled at one end of the long table, discussing the Ministry of Magic. _

_"Well, if all three of us go we'll have to Disapperate separately," Ron was saying. "We can't all fit under the Cloak anymore."_

_Harry stood up suddenly, and Ginny reflexively took a step toward him, but someone else beat her there. _

_"Master has not finished his soup," Kreacher said, hurrying forward. "Would Master prefer the savory stew, or else the treacle tart to which Master is so partial?"_

_Harry was already walking out of the room, his eyes pinched with pain. "Thanks, Kreacher, but I'll be back in a minute," he said over his shoulder, hurrying out of the room. Ginny flattened herself against the wall and narrowly avoided brushing his arm as he swept past her and headed for the stairs. "Er - bathroom," he added, ascending to the first landing. Ginny watched, her lip caught between her teeth, as he dashed into the bathroom and closed the door, grunting with pain._

_"It was his scar," she heard Hermione say, but Ginny kept her eyes fixed on the bathroom door. "Something's happening."_

_"Come off it," Ron said, and Ginny tore her attention away from Harry and peeked back inside the kitchen. Kreacher was piling treacle tart onto her brother's plate. "He's just nervous."_

_Hermione shook her head. "He grabbed his forehead, didn't you see? He tried to cover it up, but I saw."_

_"Kreacher will check," the elf offered, setting down his serving tray and dusting off his hands on the towel wrapped round his waist. He snapped his fingers, and with a loud _crack _he was gone._

_"It was his scar," Hermione muttered into her stew, and Ron sighed._

_"Kreacher's been kinder lately, hans't he?" he said through a mouthful of tart, trying to change the subject._

_Hermione looked disgusted, but she agreed. "It's because you and Harry are finally treating him with a bit of decency," she said, and Ginny sighed inwardly, recognizing the beginnings of another famous S.P.E.W. rant. "Ever since Harry gave him that locket, he's been much more willing to help us."_

_"What locket?" Ginny heard herself ask, and then she turned beet red and clamped her hands over her mouth. _

_Neither Ron nor Hermione appeared to have heard her. "He's grown on me," admitted Ron. Hermione tried without success to hide her beaming smile. "It's the first time in years he's had a real master, too. Sirius's mum has been dead for ages, and Sirius sort of tried to avoid him. We're the first ones who've had a need for him. Must be nice to feel useful."_

_There was a shout from upstairs, and then Kreacher Apparated into the kitchen with a _crack._ "Master is not well," he cried, but Hermione was already on her feet. With Ron at her heels, she sprinted up the stairs and began to pound on the door. Ginny watched the scene from down below, craning her neck back to see the landing._

_"Harry! HARRY!" Hermione yelled. There was no answer. Looking panicked, Hermione drew her wand. After a moment of hesitation, Ron followed suit. "Harry, open up!" _

_The door flew open, and Hermione toppled inside at once, regained her balance, and glanced around suspiciously. Ron was right behind her, looking unnerved as he pointed his wand into the corners of the chilly bathroom._

_"What were you doing?" Ginny heard Hermione ask sternly._

_"What d'you think I was doing?" asked Harry with feeble bravado._

_"You were yelling your head off," said Ron._

_"Oh, yeah . . . I must've dozed off, or - "_

_"Harry, please don't insult our intelligence," said Hermione between deep breaths. "We know your scar hurt downstairs, and you're white as a sheet!"_

_Kreacher, who had hung back from the bathroom, started to make his way quietly back down the stairs. Ginny followed him into the kitchen and watched in silence as he busied himself tidying the countertops. They were eventually joined by the others, who ate Kreacher's stew and treacle tart and talked about their plans to infiltrate the Ministry until the early hours of the morning. Hermione went up to bed first, and then Ron. The kitchen was empty save for the elf, Harry, and the visitor they didn't know they had._

_"Kreacher," Harry said softly. "Come here."_

_The elf hurried over to his master._

_"If something goes wrong with the plan . . . Don't stay here. Don't wait for them to catch you. If we don't come back, find the Weasleys. Any of them."_

_"Master will return," Kreacher said, patting Harry's arm gently. "And Kreacher will have a lovely steak-and-kidney pie waiting for him when he does."_

_Harry gave the elf a brief smile. "Just in case, though. The Weasleys. Fred and George have a shop in Diagon Alley, go there."_

_Kreacher's smile looked forced. "And they will be Kreacher's new masters?" he asked._

_"Yes. Oh - don't mention this to Ron or Hermione. I don't want them to think I doubt the plan." He gave a sad little half-smile. "Got to keep up morale, you know. So, er, are we clear? Go to the Weasleys, don't tell anyone why, just say - say - say that it's your master's orders."_

_"Is Master asking," Kreacher whispered, "or telling?"_

_Harry took a breath. "Telling," he said finally. "If I don't come back, I am leaving you to the Weasleys. Do you understand?"_

_Kreacher nodded sullenly. "Master should get to bed," he said shortly. "Master has a big day tomorrow."_

_Harry looked like he wanted to say something more, but he rose and left the kitchen. Kreacher pried open a cupboard door and curled up inside of it. Ginny heard muffled whimpers emitting from inside. _

_The world around her blurred, and then it was morning, and Kreacher was shooing the trio out of the house with promises of pies upon their triumphant return. As the door shut, Kreacher leaned heavily against it and exhaled slowly. Ginny followed him around, drifting in his wake as he completed chores and prepared the pies. By mid-afternoon, he was out of distractions, and he sat at the head of the table with his hands clasped, staring down the hallway at the door. _

_Night fell. The door remained closed._

_The dream kept shifting before her eyes. As the time passed, Kreacher slowly descended back into his former self. By the third day, he was muttering under his breath again. At the end of the second week he stumbled out of his cupboard and pried apart the curtains covering Mrs. Black's portrait. The house grew filthier by the minute, the pie rotted away on the table, and Kreacher seemed to be in pain most of the time. Ginny could hear him shouting and wailing, and she wanted to help, but the dream wasn't under her control, and the days flipped by quickly, like pages in a book that someone was skimming, and there was nothing she could do._

_The dream finally settled. Ginny didn't know how long it had been since Harry'd left, but Kreacher was in a bad way. "Mustn't lock the doors," he kept mumbling to himself. "Mustn't be locking the doors, Kreacher wouldn't want to keep out Master Harry, oh, no, Master would be so disappointed if Kreacher locked him out!" _

_Ginny had a fleeting vision of the elf failing to lock the doors at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes._

_"All right!" Kreacher shouted suddenly. "Kreacher will go!"_

_"Go?" asked the portrait of Sirius's mum. "Go where?"_

_"To the blood traitors," Kreacher answered, tugging at his ears. "Master told Kreacher to go to the Weasley brats, and so Kreacher will go, Kreacher is a good elf."_

_"The blood traitors!" howled the portrait. "How dare you, Kreacher!" But Kreacher snapped his fingers, and Mrs. Black's curtains swung shut over her face. With a low grunt that might have been a sob, he flung open the door and took a step into the outside world._

_Ginny made to follow him, but something stopped her._

_The dream was changing again._

_It wasn't like the other times, when the scenes had blurred and morphed between the time lapses. This was different. This was _familiar.

_Without warning, the cold, empty fireplace burst to life. Hot flames danced in mesmerizing patterns, twisting and writhing like snakes, and Ginny knew she should follow Kreacher, but she was drawn to the fire, it was talking to her, whispering her name in that entrancing tongue that only she and Tom could understand . . . They were saying _Ginny, Ginny, Ginny,_ and she knew they were only in her head, she knew none of this was real, but she had never before had a dream quite so vivid . . . She stretched out her hand to touch the fiery snakes, she wanted to stroke them, even though she knew it would hurt, and the part of her that was still sensible was shrieking at her to stop. . . ._

_"Ginny."_

_Ginny froze, her hand inches from the fireplace. _

_"What are you doing."_

_It wasn't a question. A white hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her around. Ginny squeezed her eyes shut. _

_"What are you doing, Ginevra?" he asked. "Answer me. Tell me what's wrong."_

_"You're not real," she whispered, even as she felt his long fingers curling under her chin, forcing her head back._

_"Open your eyes. Look at me."_

_Ginny wrenched her head out of his grasp and kept her eyes closed. _

_"Look at me, Ginevra, please."_

_"No."_

_Tom sighed. "You're being so difficult," he murmured, sweeping her hair back behind her shoulder. "Didn't you miss me?"_

_"This is just a dream," Ginny whispered firmly to herself. _

_"Just a dream?" he echoed. "Is that what you think? _Just _a dream?"_

_"I'm waking up now."_

_"You could stay asleep," he suggested. "You could stay with me, just for a little longer. We both know you want to."_

_"I'm waking up," she repeated, forcing her eyes to open. She saw his face, white and skinless as bone, and his long, fiery tongue, and the glowing eyes pressed deep into the sockets of his skull, and she screamed while he laughed, she screamed and screamed and screamed - _

_"_Mistress Ginny!"

Ginny sat up, her face covered in sweat. "I'm fine," she said automatically.

"What happened? What did Mistress see?"

"You didn't - you couldn't see him?" she asked breathlessly.

Kreacher shook his head. "Kreacher lost control of Mistress Ginny's mind. Another dream slipped in. There is dark magic at work, too powerful for Kreacher to thwart, oh yes, far too powerful." He looked scared. Ginny had never seen him look scared.

Kreacher put a hand against her temple; she jerked away. "Mistress Ginny must be still," he ordered, reaching for her again.

She scrambled away from him, still breathing heavily. "What are you doing?"

"Kreacher is tracking the dream," he said seriously, climbing onto the couch so he could reach her head. "But Kreacher has only a few seconds before the traces fade, so if Mistress would be still, Kreacher would be able to - ah, yes." He had his bony fingers jammed up against Ginny's temples.

"Did you get it?" she asked anxiously a minute later. "Do you know who sent it?"

Eyes squeezed shut, the elf shook his head. "Only where it came from."

Her heart was in her throat. "The world of the dead?" She hated herself for hoping, but if there was even a _chance _Tom was trying to contact her . . . If there was even a _prayer_. . . .

But Kreacher shook his head. "Not from the dead. From a house."

She deflated. "A house."

"Yes." He opened his eyes.

She waited, but he offered no more information. "Whose house, Kreacher?" she finally prompted.

"A house with many people," he replied.

She licked her lips. "Hogwarts?"

"No, not Hogwarts." Under his breath, he mumbled, "If it were Hogwarts, Kreacher would have _said _Hogwarts, but no, the blood traitor is not thinking of _that_."

She ignored the jab at her intelligence. "The Ministry of Magic, then?"

He shook his head again.

"Where, then?"

"It is a house full of dark magic," he said. "Tall. Filled with rooms. A broken mirror. Unplottable. Muggle-repellant. It is - " He stopped and looked up at Ginny, who gestured that he should keep going. "The Dark Lord's manor," he whispered.

"Tom's house," she whispered. "Tom's house, that's where I last saw him, it's him, he's alive, I know it!" She didn't care that it was impossible. She was standing, reaching for her wand. Her heart, so heavy and conflicted these past few days, soared. "Where's my wand, Kreacher?"

"Here." Kreacher handed it to her. "Is Mistress going to the Dark Lord's home?"

She nodded, running a hand through her hair in a feeble attempt to unsnarl it.

"Then Kreacher is coming, too."

She was walking toward the door. "No, stay here with Billy. It's dangerous."

"_No_." Kreacher scurried around the couch and stood in the doorway, blocking her way. "Kreacher has let too many masters walk away into danger," he said, his eyes locking on to hers. "Too many masters have not come home. Kreacher will go with Mistress Ginny."

She sighed impatiently and pushed past him. "I order you to stay."

But Kreacher didn't stay. He stumbled after her, grunting with pain and clutching at his head. "Kreacher will _not_," he panted. "It hurts Kreacher to disobey his orders, but Kreacher will not stay, no, he will not, not again, not this time!"

Ginny was at the bottom of the porch steps. She took a deep breath and turned around to face him. "Kreacher," she began, but he interrupted.

"Kreacher knows how to find the Dark Lord's house," he declared. "And Mistress Ginny does not."

She opened her mouth to argue before she realized he was right. "All right, you've got me there - wait. How do you know how to find it?"

Kreacher swallowed and looked very, very ashamed of himself. "House elf magic," he tried, but Ginny saw through his lie easily. "Kreacher has been before," he admitted.

She squinted. "You went to Tom's? When? Why? Tell the truth."

"Many times," he told her. "To visit his old mistress."

But that didn't make any sense. "Sirius's mum's at Grimmould Place."

"Not Mistress Walburga," Kreacher said miserably. "Kreacher knows Mistress Walburga is dead, he knows she is being only a portrait now."

It was growing cold, and Ginny's patience was running thin. "Stop avoiding the question," she said. "Who do you go see at Tom's house?"

"Kreacher can't," he whimpered. "Kreacher promised not to tell."

In the back of her mind she heard Tom's voice whispering _that word_ over and over: _promise, promise, promise, promise. _He'd broken so many promises. . . . "Tell me," she roared, drawing her wand. "Or so help me, Kreacher, it'll be clothes. An entire _closet _of them."

Kreacher threw himself face-first into the snow and began to howl. "Lady Lestrange," he cried, voice slightly muffled. "Kreacher goes to see Mistress Bellatrix!"

And then with a loud _crack_, he Disapparated.


	12. The Portrait

_12. The Portrait_

"Kreacher!" Ginny screamed. "Come back here!"

The elf reappeared, his ugly face streaked with tears.

"You're sneaking off to see _Bellatrix?_"

He nodded, trembling.

"And are you - do you take _orders _from her?"

He nodded again, twisting his long ears between his fingers.

"Like what?"

"Secret," he said. "Kreacher cannot tell."

Ginny sighed and ran a numb hand through her hair. "How often do you see her?"

"Every night," he admitted. "When Kreacher is alone at the Weasley brats' store, he uses the Floo powder, yes, he does, and he talks to his mistress through the fireplace. Mistress Ginny never told Kreacher not to!" he added, staring up at her with watery eyes.

"I did tell you not to!" she cried. "I told you twice!"

But Kreacher shook his head. "Mistress Ginny told Kreacher not to see Lady _Black. _Mistress Bellatrix is Lady _Lestrange _now."

Ginny closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. The sun was just beginning to rise. "Take me to Tom's house," she told him firmly. "I need to see him. And while we're there, you are forbidden to leave my side, no matter what Bellatrix says. Do you understand me?"

Kreacher grunted his acceptance.

"Good. Take me there, then. Please," she added half-heartedly.

He put his hand on her forearm and snapped his fingers. They reappeared a moment later in a dark room that Ginny had never seen before. "Where are we?" she whispered. "I told you to take us to - "

"This _is _the Dark Lord's manor," Kreacher insisted, dropping her arm as if it burned him. "This is the only part of the manor Kreacher has ever seen. Mistress Bellatrix's room."

Ginny headed for the door. "We need to go to Tom's room," she said, her voice still hushed, though she didn't quite know why. Bellatrix was clearly not in her room; she would have heard them Apparate and come to investigate. But there was something eerie about being back here, especially after she'd promised herself she was leaving this place behind.

She stepped out into the hallway, hand clenched around her wand. Tom's door was visible at the end of the corridor, its brass knocker gleaming in the dim torchlight of the hallway. She approached the door carefully. Her fingertips barely grazed the metal snake, but it shuddered to life. "_Passsssword?_"

"_Ginevra_," she said through a series of complicated hisses. The snake flicked its tongue. With a small _click_, the locks unbolted themselves, and Ginny pushed the door open. "Tom?" she whispered. Kreacher was at her side, whimpering. "Tom?"

The room was empty.

"Tom," Ginny said with a little more force, stepping all the way inside and closing the door behind her. "I know you're here." She stepped toward the fireplace and rested her hand on the mantle, the same way he did in her dreams. "Come out."

He didn't appear.

"Tom," she said, aggravation creeping into her voice. Her heart was beginning to sink. "Don't do this."

"Mistress," Kreacher croaked, but she shushed him.

"Don't do this," she said again, clenching her hand into a fist. "Don't _do _this."

"Mistress," Kreacher insisted, tugging at her cloak. "Look."

Ginny turned. Hanging on the wall next to the door was a giant portrait that she knew hadn't been there before. "Tom?" she whispered, taking a step toward it.

The man in the portrait didn't acknowledge her. He stared blankly ahead, eyes fixed on something across the room, a hint of a smirk playing around his lips. It took several moments for Ginny to realize this was no magical portrait; it was a Muggle one, the kind that didn't move, the kind that might as well have been dead. "Why's it here?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from it to look down at her elf. "How did it get here?"

Kreacher poked its frame delicately. The portrait didn't move. "Something is wrong with it," he decided. "It is unfinished. Nobody charmed it."

Ginny was already holding her wand. "What's the spell?" she asked. "I'll charm it." _Anything to talk to him again. Don't think._

"The charm?" Kreacher looked confused. "His name."

"That's all?"

Kreacher nodded. "But it won't work for Mistress Ginny," he added as she drew breath to speak his name. "The name must be spoken by the artist."

Ginny exhaled. "Who's the artist, then?"

Kreacher shrugged, and Ginny dropped the matter. "We don't have time to talk to portraits, anyway," she said. "We have to find Tom. We have to find out why he's sending me dreams, and - "

There was a knock on the door. Ginny froze mid-sentence, her heart pounding. "_Passsssword?_" asked the slightly muffled voice of the snake.

"Hide," hissed Ginny, and Kreacher dove beneath the bed. Ginny tucked herself inside the walk-in fireplace, pressed up against one of the walls, praying that whoever was coming in wouldn't decide to use the Floo. . . .

The door opened, and Ginny heard the light _click _of high heels on the stone floor. "There we are, my Lord," a sugar-coated voice said, and Ginny bit down hard on her tongue. She flicked her eyes toward Kreacher. He was staring back at her, his golf ball-sized eyes were wide and pleading. She shook her head furiously.

"A nice coat of varnish," the witch mused quietly. Ginny dared to poke her head out from her hiding place and peek at the intruder. The witch stood with her back to the fireplace, a paintbrush in her hand as she busily spread a thick coat of glossy paint over Tom's portrait. "Almost finished," she told him, Vanishing the paint and using a drying spell on the canvas. Clearing her throat slightly, she stood back to admire her work. "Such lovely eyes," she said sadly, shaking her head a little, and Ginny heard tears in her voice. "Every part of you was lovely."

A tiny whimper emitted from under the bed. Ginny shot a glare at Kreacher, who had his hands clamped over his mouth. The witch did not appear to have noticed the sound, though, and she raised her arms over her head and cried, "Awaken, Thomas Marvolo Riddle!"

The portrait blinked.

"My Lord," the witch cried, dropping to her knees and bowing before the portrait.

The portrait opened his mouth. "Bella," he said, looking around.

Bellatrix gasped and began to sob. "It's me, my Lord, your must trusted servant. I'm here, I'm here."

The portrait was still looking around. "Where is Ginevra?"

Bellatrix froze. Slowly, she rose to her feet. "The blood traitor vanished," she said. "Just after your - passing."

"Vanished?" Tom looked confused. "No, I just saw her. She was there."

Ginny held her breath and prayed he wasn't pointing at the fireplace.

"No," Bellatrix said gently. "My Lord, you are confused. You are just waking up from a long sleep. Days have passed. Your memory may have gaps. The Weasley brat is gone."

"She was right there," he said, but this time he sounded a little unsure of himself.

"I'm here," Bellatrix tried. "I've always been here."

"Yes," Tom said, giving in. "What happened to me, Bella? Am I dead?"

"Yes," Bellatrix whispered, bowing her head. "It was Malfoy's doing. He silenced the brat - "

"Ginevra," Tom said quietly. "Call her Ginevra. Please."

"Ginevra, my Lord, of course. He silenced her, and you fell. I was the first one at your side. I don't know how it happened, but I know it was Malfoy. And Ginevra. It was something to do with her, too."

"Unbreakable Vow," Tom muttered, but Bellatrix wasn't listening.

"I killed Malfoy, of course," she babbled, "and I would have taken care of the Weas - oh, all right, _Ginevra _- but she disappeared. I've been tracking her, though, don't you worry. I've been sending her dreams."

Ginny's heart stopped. She glanced at Kreacher, who looked just as surprised as she felt. It was _Bellatrix_?

"Why do you send her dreams?" Tom was asking.

"To punish her, of course!" cried the witch. "For murdering you! I show her everything she wants to see, and then I take it all away." She sniggered.

"Ginevra didn't murder me."

"She did, my Lord."

"She _didn't_." His voice was cold, and Bellatrix immediately launched into a series of apologies.

"Leave me, Bellatrix," Tom said.

"Leave you?" Ginny could almost hear the witch's jaw drop. "But my Lord - "

"Leave." He didn't say it loudly, but his tone was commanding, and the Death Eater obeyed, slamming the heavy door shut behind her. "Ginny?" he said when she was gone. "Come out. Please."

Ginny hesitated, but in the end she climbed out of the fireplace and stood before the portrait.

"I knew you were here," he said when she came into view. "I knew I saw you."

"I - I - " She didn't know what to say. There were ten thousand things she wanted to tell him, ten thousand words she wanted him to hear, and they ranged from "Damn you" to "I love you" to "How could you" to "Please" to "Never again" to "Forever."

"I dreamed about you," she said finally.

He didn't smile. "Bad dreams?"

She shook her head. "Not at all."

"You're lying," he said, but she wasn't. The dreams _weren't _bad. They were terrifying, and they made her heart race and her blood freeze, but so did he, in all the best and worst ways.

"Do you love me?" he asked suddenly, and she was shocked at the childlike quality of his voice.

There was a _yes _on her lips, but she held it back and considered the question for a long moment. The scene in the Leaky Cauldron was still fresh in her mind. Did you really love someone if you were ashamed of him? "I'm not sure," she said finally.

"Did you ever love me?"

"Once."

"In the Chamber?"

"Long after the Chamber. Just for a little while."

He looked disappointed. "I'm not your Tom," he told her. "I look like him, but I'm not the real thing."

She nodded. "I know."

"I wish I were real. I wish I could hold you. I know Tom held you."

"He did. Once." Talking to this portrait had not been a good idea. _Don't think._

"I have all of Tom's memories, you know," the portrait spoke up after a few seconds. "I know everything he knew. But there are pieces of his past that don't make sense to me. Like his reaction to that prophecy. Why would he try to kill the one with the power to vanquish him? Why not, I don't know, befriend him instead? You wouldn't kill your friend, after all, even if you had the power to do so."

Ginny could feel herself going numb. The man in the portrait was not what she'd expected, not what she'd wanted, and she realized with a sickening jolt that she wished he were crueller.

"And how could he stand to be around those - what did he call them? Death Eaters?" the portrait with Tom's face babbled. "What kind of name is that? It doesn't even sound threatening, just sort of _odd. _Death isn't a_ food._"

Panic began to bubble up inside of her. He wasn't Tom. Tom wasn't here. Tom was dead, and she'd known it all along, and it was foolish to think he wasn't. "I have to go," she said suddenly.

"Oh, don't leave," the portrait begged. "I don't want to be alone with _her._"

"With Bellatrix? Bellatrix adores you."

"But she's . . . She's rather vile, don't you think?"

With a shrill scream, Kreacher launched out from under the bed. "Do not talk about Kreacher's mistress that way!" he cried, raking at the portrait's canvas with his long, ragged fingernails. "Mistress Lestrange is a good mistress, she is, and Kreacher will defend her, oh yes he will!"

Tom looked mildly disgusted and lifted his robes away from Kreacher's talons. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Kreacher," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

"Kreacher will defend his rightful mistress!" howled the elf, head-butting the portrait's frame.

"Easy," cried Tom, stumbling a little as if an earthquake had caught him.

"Kreacher, stop," Ginny said, and the elf fell back, panting hard and glaring up at Tom.

The portrait looked down sadly at Ginny. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the real thing for you," he told her, and she wanted to retch, because that face, that voice, that _look_, they were all his, and she knew it was wrong to want him but she couldn't help it, she wanted him anyway.

"I'm sorry the real thing wasn't more like you," she said, and she meant it. It would be so much easier if she'd fallen for someone decent, someone kind, someone like Neville or Collin or hell, even someone like Percy, if Percy hadn't been related to her. But no, she was Ginny Weasley and she never did anything the easy way, and so she had chosen the villain.

Noisy footsteps approached the door, startling Ginny out of her trance. She cocked her head slightly, listening for the sound of the knocker hitting the wood and jumping when she heard it. "Someone's coming," Tom's portrait said, craning his neck around to try and see the door. "Who decided to hang me here?" he added exasperatedly. "This is such a terrible angle, I can hardly see anything - "

Ginny wasn't listening. "Hide, Kreacher," she whispered, drawing her wand and scooting back inside the fireplace just as the door burst open. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that the portrait would have enough sense to keep quiet.

The room was silent for several long moments, other than the pounding of her own heart. Ginny knew it wasn't Bellatrix - the footfalls outside the door hadn't been quite delicate enough to match the _click _of her heeled boots - but she was certain it was a Death Eater, and it had to be someone who spoke the language of snakes. She could rule out Malfoy, obviously, and she didn't allow herself to hope for Tom, not again, not anymore. But who did that leave? She had no idea which Death Eaters were Parselmouths and which weren't.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and Ginny dared to relax. Maybe there was nobody there after all. Maybe whoever it was had seen the empty room and left without her hearing. Maybe it was all in her imagination, and she was actually asleep right now, dreaming terrifying dreams as usual. Carefully, she stowed her wand in her pocket. Her elbow skidded across the rough stone of the fireplace, tearing through her skin and making her draw in a loud gasp of pain.

The silent intruder heard the inhalation and seized the opportunity to cry, "_Reducto_!"

The fireplace began to crumble; she threw her arms up to protect herself, but a large chunk of stone connected with her skull, and then all Ginny saw was black.


End file.
